Deactivated
by unforth
Summary: The morning after his scene with Dean, Castiel wakes up to the realization that he has made a massive mistake. A sequel to SextersAnondotcom.
1. Chapter 1

Oh man I have been thinking about this story since the day I finished the first SextersAnon story. I even started to write it! But I had other stuff I had to do, so it didn't get finished. However, now is the moment. I'm going to finish this story, and I'm debating just going ahead and writing the several other stories I envision in this 'verse (it'll probably end up around six stories...).

Hope y'all enjoy and think this was worth the wait! :)

Warning: this story has a warning for massive amounts of subdrop.

* * *

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Characters: Castiel; Dean Winchester; Charlie Bradbury; Zachariah; Anna Milton; Naomi

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Top Castiel; Bottom Dean; Dom/sub; BDSM; Dom Dean; Sub Castiel; Depression; Subdrop; Kink Negotiation; Aftercare; Rope Bondage; Sex Toys; Light Masochism; Texting; Sexting; Internalized Vanilla Attitudes About Sex

 **This story is a sequel to my previously posted story Sextersanondotcom. It will not make sense as a stand alone. So go read that, then come back and read this. :)**

* * *

 _That was a disaster_.

Castiel groaned and pressed his hands over his eyes painfully hard to block out the dazzling sunlight streaming through the crack between the curtains of his hotel room. His body hurt, especially his chest, abs and thighs, and _especially_ his cock, which throbbed with every pump of blood through his veins even though he was limp.

 _What was I thinking_?

He hadn't _been_ thinking, that was the problem. He got one sexy order from a dom who seemed nice and suddenly everything was fair game, every single option was on the table, and Castiel had risked everything he'd spent fifteen years working for to get off for one day.

 _He_ was _nice. Assertive and strong and sexy and skilled and yet gentle and kind. He gave me what I needed…he_ tried _to give me what I needed_.

It had felt fantastic while they were in the scene. Now, in the fresh light of a new morning, reflection on the previous day was a stark, painful reminder of all the reasons Castiel no longer permitted himself to engage in BDSM relationships. The moment a scene started his sense stopped functioning.

 _I am such an idiot. I can never risk doing that again_. _Even over text message, I lose myself too completely. Even over text message, I cannot be trusted because I cannot say no._

 _Of course I can't say no. I'm a submissive and he's my dominant and it is not for me to refuse him._

 _I could have said I wasn't comfortable with the scene. I could have said we needed to stop until I was done with work. I could have never given the green light to engage in public play in the first place. I could have used my safe word when we pushed past the first couple hours of erection, could have used my safe word when Joshua asked me to stand and speak to the group, could have at any point ended it. But I didn't, because while I was caught in the moment I didn't want to. I didn't want to because it felt so good to push myself, so good to satisfy him, so good to be in control, to be under his control._

 _If Dean were to contact me tomorrow and for some reason I was insane enough to agree to repeat that scene, I would behave in precisely the same way, even knowing what I know now, even feeling as I do now. I cannot delude myself and pretend that the exact same thing wouldn't happen._

 _I cannot be trusted._

 _I can never do that again._

The thought left him sad and empty. He'd enjoyed being a sub again – _what is_ wrong _with me, I enjoyed almost destroying my career and ruining my livelihood!_ – and he'd enjoyed having a dom. He didn't want to tell Dean _no_. He wanted to text him again, wanted to see and hear him again. He wanted more – he wanted to meet him, to be touched by him, to touch him.

 _And that's why I can't. I cannot be trusted to behave in my own best interest when it comes to sex._

Castiel had operated under self-imposed celibacy for years. He'd been lonely, he'd been unfulfilled, at times he'd been sad, but he'd been functional and successful. Signing up for SextersAnon, he'd dared to hope there might be a middle ground.

There was no middle ground.

 _Foolish_.

Castiel forced himself from bed, went to his luggage and laid out his outfit for the day.

 _Foolhardy_.

He took a shower, depressed that even the heat of the water couldn't wash away the aches of the previous day.

 _Disgusting_.

Turning the temperature up, he let the burn scour him until his skin was bright red.

 _Unclean._

It hurt, grounded him, brought a strange kind of pleasure.

 _Unworthy._

Over-hot showers were a masochistic indulgence, one he didn't allow himself often: he'd turn the temperature to maximum, stand under the flow as long as he could bear it, sear himself until the line between pain and pleasure disappeared and he could ignore everything except the physical sensations.

 _Dependent._

With no dom to push his self-control, such showers had been a way to push his limits without needing another person to help, but he didn't test himself now.

 _Disobedient._

He would either fail miserably or he'd succeed to admiration.

 _Failure._

He feared both equally; failing would drop him into the depths, remind him how much better his self-control was when he was supervised by a skilled dom like Dean.

 _Coward._

Even if he succeeded at standing under the scalding shower for long minutes, he'd be burned and red, forced to spend another day maintaining the masquerade that he was fine, that he wasn't a deviant, wasn't broken, wasn't sick.

 _Pervert._

Hand shaking, he turned the water off.

 _Weakling._

The instant the heat stopped striking his skin, he shivered uncontrollably.

 _Whiner._

The air felt cold by contrast and his body hurt even more than it had earlier.

 _Degenerate._

No one he worked with would understand.

 _Exhibitionist._

If he'd been caught the previous day…he couldn't even bear to think of it, reminded himself over and over again not to dwell on past mistakes he couldn't hope to repair.

 _Lunatic._

However insane his behavior had been, he'd gotten away with it once and would never be stupid enough to take such a risk again.

 _Selfish_.

He'd thought nothing of the other people in the room, hadn't considered the impact his behavior might have on them.

 _Oblivious._

Everyone else present had become inadvertent, unwilling partners in his scene with Dean.

 _Inconsiderate._

None of them had given consent to be used as props in his and Dean's twisted sex game.

 _Self-centered._

Castiel felt sick imagining how upsetting it would have been to them had Castiel been discovered, felt sick imagining how _violated_ he'd feel, were he ever to learn that one of _them_ had been exposed under the table, had been masturbating, had been trading sexual text messages the entire meeting.

 _Rapist._

He felt like he had a violated them all even though he hadn't been found out.

 _Undeserving_.

A lot of good things had come Castiel's way once he put aside his inappropriate behavior and focused on his career.

 _Incapable._

The money he earned aided everyone in his family; he channeled the rest into investment accounts and charitable causes.

 _Soulless._

The work he did helped establish a standard of ethics among corporate middlemen, helped ensure that companies that did good work were forwarded and that those that didn't had more trouble advancing.

 _Corrupted._

Castiel wasn't deluded, he knew that executives at Sandover had at times been guilty of corruption, malfeasance, irresponsibility, and flagrant stupidity, but he was proud that his department wasn't responsible for any of it, not under his supervision.

 _Arrogant._

He was proud of the work he did, of the position he'd earned after he'd hit rock bottom in his early twenties and realized he couldn't stay with Naomi any longer.

 _Traitorous._

For fifteen years he'd held his urges at bay and he'd dared to think that finally, _finally_ , he was old enough, mature enough, to handle a simple, anonymous relations.

 _Stupid._

Yet, after mere days' acquaintance he'd been prepared to throw everything away at the behest of a stranger.

 _Naïve._

He didn't deserve his position, didn't deserve his salary, didn't deserve the heavy responsibilities of his job, didn't deserve the respect of his colleagues, didn't deserve a dom to take care of him.

 _Pathetic._

Though he'd followed his orders and behaved, he _still_ didn't deserve the pleasures he'd enjoyed the day before.

 _Inadequate_.

Standing before the mirror over the desk, Castiel avoided looking at his laptop, avoided looking at the chair he'd left a sweaty, come-streaked mess the night before, avoided looking at the soiled tissues in the small garbage, avoided looking at the refletion of his face.

 _Useless._

With unnecessary concentration, he tied his tie, straightened his jacket and buckled his belt.

 _Not again. Never again_.

Deliberately leaving his second cell phone next to the computer, Castiel grabbed his brief case, retrieved his charging iPad from beside his bed and headed out to the day's meetings. Whatever small amount of pride he felt that he'd left the spare phone behind dulled beside the pain of doing so. He had nothing to be proud of, not when he wanted so _badly_ and deserved so little. He had nothing to be proud of when he longed to retrieve the phone and text Dean and follow his dom's parting instructions to check in this morning.

 _Never again. I cannot allow myself the pleasure of following his orders. Being a submissive is more responsibility than I can be trusted with._

He'd thought that through years of denial he'd proven himself worthy of enjoying this pleasure once more, but he'd been wrong.

The day passed slowly. The boardroom was too warm. The speaker for the morning – Zachariah Adler, head of sales – droned on as if what he had to say was important in comparison to that which had been said the preceding days. The only reason Adler had the coveted spot on the last morning of the event was that he'd written the schedule for the week; by all rights, Joshua should have been the one wrapping things up. The afternoon was ostensibly more pleasant: small talk over hors d'oeuvre, passed flutes of Champaign, a chance for people to debrief after the intense week of meetings. Most considered it a relief to no longer be trapped in an office chair pretending to be attentive. Castiel thought it agony. He wasn't high enough on the corporate ladder for anyone to be interested in him; thus, his time was occupied by pointless conversations with the other relative non-entities in attendance. To not converse would be to appear rude and aloof, so Castiel gritted his teeth and forced himself and was simultaneously grateful and ashamed when Ms. Milton came to his rescue, shooting him a sympathetic smile and chatting with him about his itinerary for the following weeks. She still believed him struggling against illness, still believed that his distress of the previous day wasn't self-inflicted stupidity.

He was such an ass.

As soon as he could escape he retreated to his hotel room. He had an entire weekend before he had to hit the road again with a flight on Monday morning bound for the Ukraine. He could have planned his scene with Dean for then, when he had privacy and seclusion and time. Instead, he'd allowed it to proceed at the worst possible moment. He'd _wanted_ it to proceed at the worst possible moment. The litany of self-condemnation started anew as he reflected on how poor his decisions were. To think, a month ago when he'd arranged his schedule for June, booked his flights, made the arrangements, so that he'd have the weekend to himself, he thought it would be a chance to relax, maybe do some sightseeing, enjoy a book, get a massage. Now he dreaded it. Two whole days alone with his own thoughts sounded wretched.

First things first. He had to put the entire debacle behind him before he could move on. Reluctantly, he turned on his laptop and navigated to SextersAnon. He had a handful of new messages but he didn't open his inbox to see what they were. Instead, he clicked the link to his user settings and read through the available options. At the bottom of the page he found what he sought.

"Do you wish to deactivate your account?" it read, followed by a drop down menu, "yes" or "no." Castiel selected "yes," scrolled to the "submit" button, and froze as a dialog box popped up at the bottom of his screen.

Metallicar 67: You didn't text me this morning.

An instant later, a second message popped up, so soon after the first that Castiel could imagine thick, strong fingers typing frantically.

Metallicar 67: Are you alright?

 _Click the submit button, terminate the account, cancel the spare phone, never talk to him again…_

… _green eyes, tanned skin, strong muscles, curled brown hair, luscious lips, shapely ass, beautiful cock, a dildo he bought just to be me…_

Castiel groaned at the memories, groaned at how much raw _want_ came with every thought, groaned as his aching cock twitched. He bit his lip against further arousal; he was bruised and battered and it'd be days before he was healed enough to risk an erection.

MyBoyThursday: I'm fine.

His fingers flashed over the keyboard as he did his damnedest to replace desire with anger.

 _I'm useless, unworthy, untrustworthy, unreliable; I am too compliant even for a submissive, too complacent to be trusted to see to my own best interest_.

 _No. I can be stronger than that. I can put a stop to this before I take it too far, before I repeat the mistakes of my youth._

With self-recrimination spurring him on, Castiel flicked the mouse over "submit" and hit enter to confirm when a box popped up asking if he was sure. The chat window with Dean disappeared, an animated ring showed the new webpage booting, and a confirmation message loaded.

"Thank you for using . You have 90 days to restore your account in full should you wish to resume use of our services. We would appreciate if you would take a few minutes to complete a brief survey explaining why you have chosen to discontinue using at this time. Thank you!"

Beside the computer, Castiel's extra cell phone vibrated and the screen lit up with a new text. A glimpse showed him it wasn't the first he'd received from Dean that day. He reached out, picked up the phone and read the latest message.

 _Metallicar67 (6:42 PM)_ : Did you just block me on SextersAnon?

Castiel stared at the phone, heart aching. Incredulity, surprise and pain seemed to ooze from those words. Though Castiel tried to tell himself he was projecting – they were just words, they could have any inflection, might reflect anger or curiosity or indifference or happiness or any of a slew of other feelings – he imagined Dean hurt, imagined him upset and confused. He couldn't stop staring at the screen as it faded to dimness. A moment later, it lit up bright again and shook with vibration.

 _Metallicar67 (6:43 PM)_ : Please tell me what's the matter.

 _Have to stop, have to put an end to this, have to go to AT &T's website and cancel the second phone, have to deny myself…_

 _Metallicar67 (6:44 PM)_ : I'm sorry Cas.

The phone clattered against the desk as Castiel threw it aside, unable to look at the screen any longer. With all the willpower he could muster, Castiel stood and paced the room. There must be some way he could spend his evening that would serve as adequate distraction. He wasn't hungry, he had no interest in the social pursuits most engaged in on Friday night, and as tempting as a book was he knew no written words would have the power to compel his attention.

 _Other than anything Dean writes to me. He doesn't deserve the way I'm treating him. He doesn't deserve my ignoring him. How would I feel if our positions were reversed?_

There was nowhere to go for a walk. There was nothing appealing about bars or a music venues. There wasn't a single movie he could think of that he'd like to see. There was nothing. He was nothing.

 _So much for my vaunted self-control. I thought disengaging from SextersAnon would calm me, ease me, satisfy me, and instead here I am, unable to settle on any activity, unable to concentrate on anything. Maybe I should talk to him. But how am I supposed to tell him that I cannot be trusted?_

 _Why is he sorry?_

The urge to retrieve the cell phone and ask Dean to clarify his apology was strong but Castiel resisted. Unbidden, the image sprang into his mind of stepping into the shower fully clothed, of letting scalding liquid distract and scour him until he could focus on the pain and wash away everything else. The idea was distressingly alluring. He could repeat his shower of this morning, only with the water even hotter, and he could stay under the flow until his skin blistered and his body screamed pain. He wouldn't bother searching for a happy medium, the tenuous balance between pain and pleasure. He'd immerse himself in the agony and not stop until he burned with it, until his flesh hurt so badly he couldn't sleep but his chastised mind was mercifully silent. He deserved the punishment for the way he was behaving towards his dom. It frightened him that he was so tempted to scourge himself, terrified him that he _wanted_ to. There was nothing healthy or normal in the urge; it had been years since he'd turned to self-harm as a way of reinforcing weakened willpower.

 _One scene and I'm already broken again_. _No. I never stopped being broken. I will never stop being broken._

The hotel had a pool and a hot tub. He could go for a swim, soak in the hot water, exert himself, burn off some energy. His muscles ached at the thought but anything was better than pacing the short length of his room torturing himself, figuratively and potentially literally. He'd not brought a bathing suit, but he had a pair of boxer shorts that were modest enough to serve the same function as trunks. Changing his clothes hastily before he could change his mind, before he could grab his phone and reply to Dean, before he could test how hot the shower would grow, he escaped from the confines of his hotel room and retreated to the relative freedom of the roof top pool.

Swimming for two hours helped more than he'd expected. The effort quieted his thoughts and the exertion exhausted his body. The ache of sore arms and legs on added to that of his pained abs and bruised cock provided the punishment he felt he needed for his disobedience, and the strain of forcing himself to swim lap after lap ensured that after the first few minutes spent establishing a rhythm there was nothing in his mind beyond _right arm – left arm – kick, right arm – left arm – kick_. It was a gorgeous facility, glass encased with a view of the city, trees growing beneath the sky light, the sunset stunning on the horizon, and early evening on a Friday night there wasn't another soul there. When he finally reached his physical limits, he retreated to the hot tub, let the jacuzzi ease his body, let his thoughts begin to process again. His anxiety faded. In its place a single thought remained, perfectly clear.

 _Whatever my reasons, whatever my personal qualms, it is not fair to leave Dean hanging. I have to explain myself_.

Feeling at peace as he hadn't all day, Castiel emerged dripping from the pool, toweled himself off and returned to his room. Taking a seat at the desk, he took up his phone. There had been no further text messages in the hours he was gone. The words _I'm sorry_ lingered tauntingly on the screen. Castiel scrolled quickly through the messages Dean had sent throughout the day – two from the morning casually asked Castiel how he was doing, the messages that followed showing increasing anxiety as the day wore on, culminating in Dean's responses to Castiel's deletion of his SextersAnon account. Reading them now that his head was clearer, he could make a guess why he'd ascribed confusion and worry to Dean. Rather than think that Castiel had removed his account, Dean had automatically assumed that Castiel was specifically ignoring _him_. It was a small thing that, Castiel suspected, said a great deal about Dean's personality.

 _Castiel (9:01 PM)_ : Why are you sorry?

 _Metallicar67 (9:01 PM)_ : Cas!

 _Castiel (9:02 PM)_ : You do not owe me an apology. I owe you one.

 _Metallicar67 (9:02 PM)_ : Are you alright?

Castiel was still considering how best to reply when Dean's next message came.

 _Metallicar67 (9:03 PM)_ : I absolutely owe you an apology and more besides. I've been thinking about it all day. I screwed up last night. I screwed up all day yesterday. We barely know each other we should have been doing level 1 scenes and instead I pulled out a level 10.

 _Castiel (9:03 PM)_ : I don't understand that reference.

It was an effort to wait for Dean's reply but Castiel forced himself to patience, forced himself to hold back until he'd given Dean a chance to express himself. The idea that Dean might have been in error was incredible to him. It was Castiel who'd screwed up, Castiel who'd agreed to be in a scene that could ruin him, Castiel who hadn't used a safe word, Castiel who'd indicated that he was "green light" when he should have been warning yellow or even terminating things with red. Any mistakes that were made were clearly on him.

 _Metallicar67 (9:05 PM)_ : It's a video game thing. Don't worry about it. The point is I was so excited to scene with you that I didn't start small like I should have and don't get me wrong you were spectacular Cas. A lot of subs couldn't have done what I asked you to do yesterday. I'm not sure I've ever had a sub who could have. Thank you. Thank you for your service. Thank you for being fucking amazing. And after you blew my fricken mind after I ditched you to your own after care even after you warned me that you've not been given adequate care after scenes in the past. No I did worse. I gave you orders and told you to follow them when I should have been asking what you needed.

 _Metallicar67 (9:06 PM)_ : I said the scene was done and instead of taking care of you I gave you further commands. That wasn't care at all. I'm sorry Cas. You deserved better.

 _Castiel (9:07 PM)_ : That was not my perception of events. I thought you did an excellent job. You're the best dom I've served under. It was my performance that was inadequate.

 _Metallicar67 (9:07 PM)_ : That kind of says it all doesn't it.

 _Castiel (9:08 PM)_ : I don't understand.

 _Metallicar67 (9:10 PM)_ : May I call you?

Castiel waffled, sighed and replied _Yes_. The phone rang a moment later and Castiel hated the quiver of anticipation in his heart, the errant thought that cooed excitedly that he was about to hear Dean's gorgeous voice again.

"Hey, Cas," Dean sounded, inconceivably, even better than Castiel had thought the night before. There was a gruffness to his words that felt as amazing as a touch. Something about how Dean said _Cas_ made Castiel want to hear him say it over and over again.

"Hello, Dean." Silence stretched out and Castiel frowned, puzzled. "Why did you wish to speak with me?"

"Sorry," Dean muttered. "Look, I'm trying to figure out how to say what I need to say without sounding like I'm making an accusation or anything."

"You needn't trouble yourself," Castiel replied, steeling himself. The temptation to listen to everything Dean said was great. He had a powerful urge to put off his own admissions and pretend for a few more minutes that there was any future in what they shared. Pushing down the desire, Castiel continued in a rush, "I will not be able to scene with you again. I thought that I could do this, but I was wrong. Thank you for yesterday; I'm sorry I disobeyed this morning and did not get back to you. I should go."

"What?" Dean said, stunned.

"Goodbye."

"Cas, wait!" It wasn't the supplication in Dean's tone that made Castiel hesitate to hit the disconnect button. There was an edge of rawness, of pain and distress, that Castiel couldn't ignore, couldn't leave without attempting to assuage. "You _really_ think that you were anything other than awesome yesterday?"

"You say I was adequate. As you are who I sought to satisfy, and have no cause to lie to me, I believe you," said Castiel, every word carefully chosen. "However, there are reasons that I stopped engaging in BDSM activities. I thought such issues would no longer be a concern now that I'm older. I thought restricting my activities to text message would curtail my most deviant behaviors. I was wrong on both counts."

"Would it be too much to ask that we at least discuss the scene before you go?" asked Dean desperately. "This was my first time trying something long distance like this; your input would be appreciated so that I don't blow it quite so badly when and if I try again. No pressure, though."

"You don't want me to go," said Castiel.

"I thought we worked well together," Dean replied. "You are the most responsive submissive I've ever worked with. I think there's a lot we would need to discuss before we could engage in another scene together. If you wanted to try, I mean. It sounds like you'd rather not. And that's cool too. It's up to you."

Castiel grimaced at the phone, blinked slowly to keep himself calm. Part of him was screaming to listen to all the hints of what _his dom_ wanted and to obey, as he'd always obeyed those who claimed him, those who owned him. Despite his careful phrasing it was obvious that Dean wanted to do another scene, wanted Castiel to be interested, wanted possession of Castiel just as Dean had said the previous day. In many respects Castiel wanted the same. It was so much easier to let himself go, to focus on his own control and cede decisions on when to let go of that control, to trust his well-being to his dom and focus on being what they needed and wanted him to be, whatever that was. Unlike some he'd been with in the past, Castiel didn't think that Dean would take advantage of him. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that Castiel thought himself capable of so much more than he actually was.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"You dropped badly, didn't you?" said Dean sadly.

Shaking his head, Castiel said, "No." Before signing up for SextersAnon, Castiel had done extensive research on current BDSM practice. From what he'd read, he'd understood that some submissives crashed emotionally and physically after a scene. They'd become sick, achy, volatile, depressed to the point that they could barely function. Castiel had undeniably experienced negative emotions after scenes, but never anything out of line with what he'd done during; the same was true of his physical symptoms, they were in line with the strenuous exertion of his role. Considering what he'd read on the safe practice websites he'd frequented, it was impossible to credit that what he'd dealt with was sub-drop. Everything he'd felt after scenes was appropriate considering the many foolish things he'd done. "The past 36 hours have been an unfortunate reminder that I cannot be trusted to act in my own best interest as concerns my sexual behavior."

"So we take public scenes off the table," offered Dean.

"That would be an ameliorant to the immediate issue but does not solve the greater problem," Castiel explained. _Keep it clinical, get him to understand, and then get the hell off the phone._ "In order for us to scene together, you would need to be able to trust me and I would need to be able to trust myself. Everything that we did yesterday, I sanctioned before and during. It was only after that I considered how ill-advised it was. What other options that I've approved of might I have equally misjudged?"

 _Hang up. Stop trying to explain. I'm not good enough for him. I'm not good enough for this._

"When you were filling out the survey on kinks and you reached the options related to public scenes, do you remember what you were thinking?" asked Dean.

Frowning, Castiel considered. He'd been excited when he'd taken the survey but he'd still considered his replies carefully. When he'd given the green light to engage in public sexual behavior, he'd thought back on his prior experiences. He loved the way public scenes tested his self-control. With the risk of discovery came a high unlike any other. The danger forced him to push past what he normally thought himself capable of and the resulting emotional pay off was fantastic. Wasn't that exactly what had happened yesterday? He'd always felt guilty afterwards, though. He'd managed to forget that part in the anticipation of getting a chance to once more engage in activities he'd denied himself so long.

"I enjoy them," conceded Castiel. "But the potential for them to go wrong is astronomical. It was highly inappropriate for me to engage in such behavior, to take risks with my own well-being and with the well-being of every innocent bystander who inadvertently ended up involved."

"Surely you thought of that when you were filling out the survey," Dean pointed out. "And when we discussed possible scenes and you agreed to keep that option on the table."

 _A table was all that stood between me and disaster for 9 hours yesterday._

"I did, but I dismissed it, which is precisely why I can't be trusted," snapped Castiel.

"How do you feeling today?" asked Dean.

"What are you getting at?" Castiel's temper was rising. He'd told Dean that he needed to stop and Dean had said he wouldn't pressure him, said he only wanted to discuss the previous day's scene, yet here he was, pushing Castiel, trying to make him doubt himself, asking questions that had nothing to do with how the scene went.

"Anxious?"

"Yes."

"Tense?"

"Yes."

"Ashamed?"

"Yes."

"Guilty?"

" _Yes_. Why won't you listen to me, Dean? I—"

"And you _claim_ you didn't drop?" asked Dean with incredulous anger.

"I didn't," Castiel snarled. _Why am I so angry_? "You don't know me, Dean. How dare you try to tell me what I'm thinking and feeling? If _you'd_ risked everything for the chance to jack off in a board room, you'd feel lousy about yourself, too."

"Cas, when you were having a day when you reported feeling stable and healthy, you said that you would be cool with scenes of that nature," Dean said with forced patience. "Today, you feel like crap, yet you trust your current assessment over your previous one? So, if you don't think that's subdrop, what do you think it is?"

"Normal!"

Dead silence greeted Castiel's shouted declaration.

"I only agreed to speak with you because it felt unfair to leave you hanging because being upset made me petulant," said Castiel. Pushing himself to sound calm left his tone icy and detached, but at least he wasn't yelling. _I never get upset like that. This must be because of the scene. I cannot keep doing this_. "Now you understand, and I should—"

"I _don't_ understand," said Dean softly. "Do you mean to tell me that, whenever you've been in scenes in the past, you've _always_ felt depressed and unhappy afterwards?"

 _I have to go, I have to get off the line, why do I keep speaking with him? Why do I keep prolonging the inevitable?_

"Of course I have," Castiel replied. "Why should I feel otherwise? I understand that I'm deviant, Dean. When I'm anticipating a scene, when I'm lost in the moment, it's easy to forget that, but afterwards? When my body aches, when my cock hurts, when I'm cut or bruised or burnt and the good feeling is gone? It's inevitable."

"It's not, Cas," Dean said, sad and sympathetic. "You're not 'deviant' and there's nothing wrong with enjoying stuff that gets you off. Fuck, if I'd known how much you struggled with this—"

"What are you—"

"If I'd known how much you struggled with this," continued Dean forcefully, "I'd never have…fuck!" Dean sighed. " _Every time_ , Cas?"

"Yes?" Castiel's annoyance finally gave way to confusion. If Dean had sounded upset with him or disappointed in him, Castiel would be fuming. Instead, Dean sounded as if learning that Castiel was upset and uncomfortable physically hurt Dean. Castiel had no idea what to make of that.

"And no one… _no one_ you've been with before ever thought that was weird?" asked Dean.

 _We didn't talk about it._

"Why would they?"

 _Hell, I think Naomi got off on how sick I felt after scenes._

"Cas, it's _classic_ drop!" Dean explained. "Feeling guilty after a scene? Feeling physically crappy? Feeling like you'd done things you shouldn't? It's like the fricken _text book_ definition of subdrop – if there were a text book of BDSM, anyway. If you were getting adequate after care, if your dom was checking in on you like they should – if _I'd_ given you after care, if _I'd_ checked in on you like I shoulda – it wouldn't necessarily happen. Even if it did, the symptoms would be milder."

"I know what I'm feeling, Dean," Castiel objected, though he was troubled. "Everything I've read described subdrop as severe –like a sickness, a nervous breakdown."

"Sure, it effects some people to that extent – but not most," said Dean. "Generally, it's more like what you're describing."

"If I don't do scenes, I don't feel this way…"

" _Exactly_."

Letting the words sink in, Castiel fell silent. It seemed inconceivable, that all this time the reaction he had to being a sub had been a psychological side effect that might be _treated_. Was it true that he could be a submissive without feeling terrible afterwards? _Outlandish_ , his frustrated thoughts suggested. _Highly unlikely. This happens because you're a bad submissive, because you are too giving, because you do not have enough self-control, because you enjoy things you shouldn't_. That voice, suspiciously similar to Naomi's, had always spoken so loudly, especially after scenes, and he'd always listened. The more intense the scene, the worse he'd always felt.

"Penny for your thoughts?" There was awkward humor mingled with concern in Dean's voice.

"I don't _know_ ," said Castiel, frustrated. "What am I supposed to say?" _Tell me, please, tell me how I should react, how I should feel, and I'll be whatever you want me to be._ Dean didn't answer. "Please, Dean, just let me go. It'll be better that way."

"What will be better?"

" _Everything_ ," Castiel answer. _I'll be better, life will be better…won't it be?_

"Such as what?" Dean pressed.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" demanded Castiel.

"Because if that was really what you wanted, you'd have hung up already," Dean replied. "And because I haven't known you long but I'm fairly sure this angry, emotional response isn't normal for you. I'm worried about you, Cas, and it's my fault you're struggling."

Anger flared hot only to die away. Dean was right. This wasn't normal, this wasn't _Castiel_. _It's because of scene, it's because…_ "What should I do, Dean?"

 _Please, just tell me what to do._

"What do you want to do, Cas?"

 _No, don't leave it up to me. Tell me, and I'll do it._

"I don't know."

 _I want to keep hearing your voice, I want you to touch me, I want to touch you, I want to meet you, I want you to bind me and break me and put me back together again. I want to feel as good as I did yesterday, want to feel that way all the time, want you to make me feel that way._

"I think you do know. But you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

 _I want you to take care of me. I want you to make all these terrible feelings go away._

"I should go," Castiel whispered pathetically.

"Please, Cas, let me help you," implored Dean. "You…you…" He swallowed words. Castiel wondered what he was thinking, what he wasn't saying.

 _He must be wondering the same about me – what I'm holding back._

"It's not your fault," Castiel said. "I can't be what you need me to be."

"What do you think I need you to be?" asked Dean.

"I…I don't know." Castiel felt like a broken record, emphasis on the _broken_ part.

 _Why haven't I hung up?_

"Cas, it's for me to say whether or not your service as a submissive is adequate," said Dean. The man had the patience of a saint. _I don't deserve this_. "Yesterday, you were everything I could hope for and then some. The more I've thought about it, the more I've marveled at how much you accomplished. It seemed like it was so _effortless_ for you; if you'd seemed strained I never would have messed up and pushed it so much farther than I originally intended to. It's not for you to decide what I need you to be, and I can tell you honestly: you were exactly what I wanted you to be and so much more than I needed you to be. You exceeded my expectations by, like, multiple degrees."

"Dean…"

"So don't put words in my mouth and suggest that I was anything other than _utterly fucking thrilled_ with your performance, cause dude…you're amazing," Dean continued his relentless kind words.

"I'm really not," Castiel managed.

"And I've been thinking about what I could do better," said Dean. "You don't trust me now – you won't talk to me – and I get it. You've got no reason to trust me, not after how I treated you last night. If we're done, we're done." It was impossible for Castiel to stay angry in the face of how upset Dean sounded at that prospect, though Dean clearly was attempting to hide his emotions. "All I ask is that you be honest with yourself. Put aside all that crap about being deviant and broken and whatever other shit lies your depression is spewing. If none of that was true, what would you want?"

 _You_.

"You've already got me, if you want me," said Dean softly.

 _Fuck._

"I shouldn't…I can't…" Castiel stammered.

"It's up to you, Cas," said Dean. "Everything is up to you. All I'm asking right now is for one more chance. I'd like the opportunity to take care of you as I should have yesterday. If, after that, you still feel the same, I'll never bother you again. Would you want that?"

 _More than anything_.

 _But I don't deserve to be taken care of, I don't deserve comfort. I'm sick and broken and disobedient._

Naomi's voice spoke to him from nearly fifteen years before. Her praise had always been extremely hard to win and the more valued for it, her condemnation quick to fall. She'd promised that she knew how to fix him, knew how to improve her, and Castiel had believed her, trusted her for far longer than he should of. In the end, she'd been wrong, and when Castiel had left he'd been even more broken than when he'd started his relationship with her.

 _Dean isn't like Naomi. He's lavish in his praise. The punishments he threatened – the punishments he delivered on – weren't arbitrary. He set out the rules clearly and I was rewarded when I obeyed and given reasonable consequences when I did not._

 _If how terrible I feel can be treated, if it can be prevented…_

 _If Dean thinks he can help me…_

 _Dean isn't Naomi._

"I'd like that, Dean."

A whoosh of sound spoke to Dean releasing a burst of air directly into the mouthpiece of his phone. "Thank God," he said fervently. "I'll be the dom you deserve, Cas. I promise I'm going to do my best, okay?"

 _You're already perfect._

 _Or am I just falling into the same traps all over again?_

 _How will I know? How will I tell the difference?_

 _Can I learn to trust myself again?_

 _I don't know._

 _I don't know anything, and I never did._

"Help me, Dean."

"I will, Cas. I will."


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: explicit pictures in this chapter.

These pictures are not my work and are shamelessly yoinked from the internet. Since I can't embed images or post links in FFdotnet, y'all should go to my tumblr, unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com, and enter this: post/145579480173/pics-for-chapter-2-of-deactivated

This'll show you the post with (NSFW!) pics, and you can peek at them where labeled in the story!

* * *

"Since I realized how badly I blew it, I've been thinking 'bout how we can handle after care, given the distance between us. Usually, there'd be a home-cooked meal, a massage, a bath, and, like, spooning and shit – whatever you wanted, really – but since we're not together…"

Dean's voice was soothing, quiet, a low, soul-easing rumble in Castiel's ear. All of those things sounded surprisingly nice. Part of Castiel thought they sounded too much like pampering – _rewards should only come if I've earned them, simply reaching the end of a scene isn't something that's worth a reward, there'd be something seriously wrong with me if I couldn't do that_ – but he couldn't deny the appeal of Dean's suggested kindnesses.

 _Dean, hand feeding Castiel dinner. Dean, straddling Castiel's back, soft, satiated cock resting against his spine, digging his palms into Castiel's aching shoulder blades. Dean, curling around him protectively beneath the covers_.

They didn't sound like things Castiel should want, but that couldn't dull the ache in his chest when he realized that receiving any of them was impossible.

"When you're feeling better, if you'd still like to scene with me, we can talk about the ideas I've had of what we can do instead. In the meantime, since it's late and…" Dean took a deep breath. "…and since I'm not sure you trust me, I thought we should keep tonight simple."

 _Of course I trust you._

"Whatever you have in mind will be fine," said Castiel.

 _See? That's how much I trust you._

"No, Cas." Dean's disagreement was firm and brooked no argument.

 _Do you not trust me?_

"I don't understand," Castiel said with a frown.

 _I don't trust me._

"After care is not another thing I do _to_ you as your dom, it's something I do _for_ you," Dean explained. Though Dean's tone was carefully neutral, Castiel felt like he was being condemned for not understanding, a feeling strangely at odds with his sense of unworthiness. He'd give a great deal to feel emotionally stable again. _If I don't scene, I'll feel stable. But…_ "You gave me your trust, your service and your obedience yesterday. You brought me a shit-ton of pleasure at a high personal cost to yourself. It's my responsibility to help you recover, but only you can tell me what you need. Shit, we shoulda talked about this way more before we started. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, Dean, I'm fine." Silence stretched out. Castiel sighed. "You're right. I'm not fine."

"Thank you, Cas," said Dean softly.

"For what?"

"Trusting me enough to admit that. How are you feeling right now? Achy? Tired? Hungry? Talk to me."

"I'm exhausted," Castiel admitted. He _was_ achy and tired and hungry, certainly. The week of board meetings had been grueling, the scene the previous day agonizing. The day had been endless, he'd been so tense he'd skipped dinner, and his long swim had exacerbated his existing pains. Then he'd topped the lot off with his emotional conversation with Dean. It was nearly eleven and they'd been talking for more than an hour. However, all of those needs paled compared to his need to sleep.

"Alright," said Dean. "Let's get you tucked in, then. I'm not going to give you orders, but I'm going to suggest the same things I'd suggest if you were here with me: get ready for bed, but make sure you pick out whatever you are most comfortable in. Pull out the favorite PJs, ya know? Lie down however you find most relaxing. Pamper yourself, since I can't be there to pamper you. Make sense?"

"Yes, Dean."

"When you're ready, return to the phone."

Rising, Castiel went to his suitcases. Home was technically in Columbus, Ohio, where Sandover's corporate head-quarters was, but Castiel hadn't been there in months and didn't expect to return there until at least August. Instead, he lived out of a small carry on with a couple days' clothes, his toiletries and a special solar panel so that he could plug his laptop, phone and iPad into the bag to recharge; a garment bag that held three suits worn and dry-cleaned so frequently that Castiel sometimes had to replace them on the road; and a large rolling bag with everything else. It seemed too little to store an entire life, but Castiel had been on the road for Sandover so continually over the past decade that he'd grown used to it. No, more than that – he'd grown to like the simplicity, the portability of this lifestyle. Home didn't feel like home, hotel rooms didn't feel like home; wherever his suitcases were was home.

Despite a week in Dallas, his main suitcase was still neat and organized, if mostly empty because everything he'd dirtied over the previous week had been transferred to a cloth laundry bag that he'd have the hotel staff wash for him on Sunday. An array of clear plastic bins enabled him to sort his clothing by type. The boxes reduced how much he could carry but they facilitated finding things to such an extent that Castiel considered them a boon nonetheless. They jigsawed together perfectly in the bag and each was labeled on each side. Pulling out the bin labeled _Pajamas_ , Castiel pulled out his favorite pair of flannel pants and a worn old white undershirt that had grown too stained to wear beneath a dress shirt. He changed out of the outfit he'd put on after his swim, donned the pants and shirt, and turned to consider the hotel bed. It was fairly comfortable, too large for one person and well-stocked with pillows. The staff had made it neatly while Castiel had been bored senseless listening to Adler during the day's meetings. The bedspread was soft, plush and pristine white and a decorative red runner was spread pointlessly across the foot of the bed. Castiel removed the runner and folded it neatly, setting it aside. Considering the pillows, he opted to keep three of them on the bed, removing the others and setting them with the runner. Usually, he made do with one pillow even though he'd prefer more. Using extra felt like an unnecessary indulgence. However, Dean had instructed Castiel to pamper himself, and that meant more pillows. Grabbing the phone, Castiel pulled back the covers, propped a pillow beneath his head, another under his knees, and wrapped his arms around the third. Laying back, Castiel took a handful of deep, soothing breaths that did nothing to ease the tension he felt.

 _This is too much…next time I stay someplace that isn't as nice I'll expect this and I'll be disappointed. I should behave austerely, conservatively, give myself what I need rather than what I want…but Dean said…_

"I'm ready, Dean," he said at length. The air conditioner kicked on, a cool breeze and soft whir filled the room, and Castiel tried to pull the covers up around himself but couldn't because they were tucked in. Usually, he left them that way. Usually, he remade the bed and tucked them in himself if the staff hadn't done an adequate job.

That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to cocoon himself in the warmth, relax into the comfort, accept that he was allowed to be fully comfortable.

Usually, he didn't let himself do that.

There was nothing usual about this evening.

"Actually, I need one more moment," Castiel said abruptly before Dean had a chance to respond. Heart beating nervously, Castiel felt like a naughty child as he got out of bed once more, untucked the blankets and sheets and crawled back in, pulling the covers all around him as he rearranged the pillows.

It felt nice.

Castiel's nerves flared. He wasn't supposed to indulged, he was supposed to make do.

But it felt _really_ nice.

"Dean,"Castiel said into the phone mouthpiece, unable to find any other words to express how conflicted he felt. Dean had told him to do this, Dean had given him very clearly instructions and promised to take care of him. Dean had, tacitly, given Castiel permission to enjoy this. And he _did_ enjoy it, it felt wonderful. Except… "Dean, I…I…"

 _I can't…I must…_

Licking his lips, Castiel tried to fight the itch beneath his skin.

 _I have to make the bed, arrange the pillows, maintain my self-control, maintain my control of my environment. Don't be slovenly, don't be sloppy, don't be wasteful, don't indulge…_

"Hey, Cas, are you comfortable?" Dean's voice was a balm to his nerves. Dean _told_ Castiel to get comfortable. Dean said Castiel had earned this. Castiel could let go his self-control if he had permission, let go his self-control if Dean said it was alright, because Dean was his dom, because Dean had claimed Castiel as his own.

 _No, no, I was going to put a stop to that, I need to put a stop to it before it goes too far…_

… _or do I?_

"Judging by the long pause, I'm going with _no_." There was a laugh in Dean's voice that lent it a beautiful richness. Castiel smiled, the tension binding him slowly releasing. "I've got you, Cas, I'm not gonna let you fall again, got it?"

"Yes, Dean."

 _All I have to do is trust him._

 _Somehow, for some reason, that feels much more difficult today than it did yesterday. It feels much more difficult now that he is instructing me towards comfort and ease instead of controlling me and punishing me. How am I supposed to accept this treatment? How am I supposed to earn this treatment?_

"Turn off the lights, close your eyes and breathe in with me," Dean instructed gently, inhaling loudly. Castiel obeyed, hitting the switch beside his bed that turned off all the lights in the room and allowing his eyes to slip shut. With a deep breath, his lungs expanded. He could feel the rise of his chest, the stretching of his muscles and flexing of his rib cage, the gentle brush of the sheets against his skin. "And breathe out." Exhaling settled Castiel against the pillows, buried him further amidst the blankets, and along with the escaping air Castiel felt his anxiety ebb. "Breathe in." Dean's voice was quiet, lilting, and though his words were simple they were a heartening lifeline, something Castiel could grasp hold of and rely on. "And breathe out."

 _But this isn't really what I want, I want neatness and order, and…and I should make the bed, I should use one pillow, I should hang up the phone and reassert my control of my own life. I don't need this, I don't want this, I don't—_

"I've got you, Cas," Dean murmured. "Breathe in."

 _Except that I_ do _want this. This feels fantastic._

Fighting back panic and tension, Castiel followed Dean's lead as they breathed in tandem. The darkness in the room was absolute and freeing. There was no one to see, no one to judge. There was only him, only Dean, no one save the two of them to know that Castiel had indulged beyond his just desserts. The longer they synced, the more calm Castiel felt.

"You're doing great, Cas," Dean eventually said. "You earned this and you deserve it. Keep breathing. Relax, and let yourself drift. You are fantastic. You are in control. Cas, are you breathing?"

"Yes, Dean." Castiel hardly recognized his voice, low, breathy, words slurred with fatigue. Sleep was sneaking up on him; he was half-gone and he hadn't even noticed.

"You can trust yourself, Cas," continued Dean. "You're capable of so much. You're capable of saying _yes_ and _continue_ to things that bring you pleasure. You're capable of saying _no_ and _stop_ to things that you do not want. You are capable of recognizing the difference. I believe in you, Cas. Breathe in." Castiel caught his head nodding as sleep threatened to overtake him and pulled himself back to wakefulness. The part of him that rebelled at Dean's gentle words grew quieter and quieter, his thoughts grew increasingly blank, as he took another swelling breath. "And breathe out." A soft sound accompanied Castiel's exhalation. "How do you feel?"

"Okay…I feel good." Castiel was barely awake enough to register that he wasn't surprised to feel alright, that he _should_ be surprised. The dull ache of his pained body had faded to a manageable thrum. His thoughts were blissfully quiet for the first time all day.

"I'm glad," said Dean warmly. "Let it go, Cas – I'm gonna keep talking, but don't feel you have to pay attention – I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?"

"That sounds nice," Castiel mumbled. "You're nice, Dean."

A low chuckle from Dean birthed a quiet warmth in Castiel's chest that radiated throughout him. There was nothing sexual about it; it was comfort and security and trust. "Thanks, Cas. I think you're pretty awesome, too. You're beautiful and warm, obedient and strong, so incredibly strong. Never seen anyone like you, Cas, never seen anyone do the things I saw you do. Never had anyone give me a gift like the one you gave me. You're good enough, you're strong enough, you're worthy, Cas, man, you deserve everything. So just relax, and…"

Castiel couldn't have said when the words faded away as he fell into a deep sleep, but he held on to them as long as he could.

* * *

Castiel awoke to pitch darkness and something hard pressed against his ear. He'd already woken to silence a couple times. Each time, he'd gathered the blankets closer around himself, rolled over and gone back to sleep. Intent on doing the same again, Castiel shifted, the pillow rolled off his head and light pinked the insides of his eyelids. Surprised, he blinked, closed his eyes against radiant sunlight, fluttered his eyelids open and shut until the brilliance no longer dazzled his sight. The blankets were tangled around his body, the pillows were mashed into misshapen lumps, and his cell phone slid from where it had rested against his head, falling to the carpeted floor with a dull thunk.

Panic flashed through his thoughts, choked at his throat.

 _How late is it? What was I supposed to do today? What was I thinking? Shit, shit, shit…_

It was 9:08. He couldn't rememberthe last time he'd slept so late, even taking into account his many jetlagged arrivals in foreign countries. He accommodated himself to different time zones by forcing himself to adapt immediately, staying up until a "normal" bed time for wherever he was and waking up at his usual time the following morning.

 _It's Saturday_ , he reminded himself. _It's my weekend off. It's alright, it's fine…_

… _it's not!_

 _Yes, it is._

 _Breathe, Castiel._

Taking a long, slow drag of air, Castiel imagined Dean's voice, allowed the memory of the previous night to soothe him once more. Leaning over in bed, he retrieved his cell phone with shaking hands.

 _I shouldn't…I shouldn't…_

… _he said he'd take care of me. He'd want to know that I'm upset, he'd want to help._

 _Castiel (9:11 AM):_ Is it alright that I slept until after 9 this morning?

 _This is crazy. I can't rely on him like this. It's not right._

 _Except he said it was alright for me to go to him. He wants me to trust him. I want to trust him. I don't want to lose this, I want to scene with him again. And he said I should trust my desires, trust myself. If that's really want I want…_

… _it's really, really what I want…_

 _Dean (9:13 AM):_ Do you think it's alright?

 _How am I supposed to know what's alright, if he doesn't tell me?_

 _I don't think it's alright, I think it's lazy, unbecoming, untoward. But_ why _do I think that? Because my parents said so when I was young? Because of Naomi's rules? Dean isn't giving me rules. Dean says it's up to me._

 _That shouldn't be terrifying._

 _Castiel (9:14 AM):_ I do. I have no plans for the day and no place to be. I've missed the hotel's free continental breakfast but I can obtain a meal elsewhere.

 _This is alright. I'm allowed this. I've allowed myself this. Not Naomi, not Dean – he's helped me but this is permission I've given myself._

 _Castiel (9:15 AM):_ I never sleep in like this.

Setting the phone on the nightstand, Castiel rose and stretched. The pain that had been so prominent the day before had dulled overnight. Despite lingering stiffness in his limbs, midriff and cock, he felt decent.

 _Dean (9:16 AM):_ Good cause I think it's fricken awesome. You need to rest Cas and deserve to sleep in sometimes. You work very hard.

 _Castiel (9:16 AM):_ Thank you Dean. I feel well this morning.

 _Dean (9:17 AM):_ That's great. If you'd like to talk later let me know. I've got a photoshoot from 10 until 3 but I'm available otherwise.

 _Dean (9:17 AM):_ And tomorrow.

 _Dean (9:17 AM):_ I mean I'm available tomorrow.

 _Dean (9:18 AM):_ If you want to talk.

 _Castiel (9:18 AM):_ I understood what you meant.

 _Castiel (9:19 AM):_ I think I need a day to consider and reflect on everything. I will call you tomorrow.

 _Dean (9:20 AM):_ Sounds good.

 _Dean (9:21 AM):_ But please don't hesitate to call any time even between 10 and 3 if you crash again okay?

 _Castiel (9:22 AM):_ I will Dean.

 _Castiel (9:24 AM):_ I promise.

The amazing part wasn't that Castiel meant it – he didn't lie, not to his clients, not to his coworkers, not to his bosses, and definitely not to his doms – but that it was true at all, that he felt alright today. Having Dean guide him to sleep the previous night hadn't even seemed like aftercare, not compared to the things Castiel had read, yet Castiel couldn't deny he'd woken up refreshed.

As he took his morning shower, Castiel reflected on the past two days, considered how much he'd anticipated the scene and how much he'd enjoyed it while it was going on, considered how badly he'd struggled afterwards. He didn't feel a hundred percent yet, but he did feel in control of himself. He felt rational. The voice of self-disparagement still tried to rake him over the coals but he found it easier to dismiss, easier to counter Naomi's litany of put downs with Dean's reassurances.

 _Dean believes I'm beautiful. Dean believes I'm obedient. Dean believes I'm strong. Dean believes I'm in control of myself._

 _Maybe if I listen to him long enough I'll believe those things about myself as well._

He'd thought avoiding BDSM and focusing on his career had given him the chance to overcome his demons and prepared him to engage in such activities again. Now, he see that he'd been wrong, not because he wasn't mature enough but because he'd never actually faced the issues that had driven him from Naomi in the first place. When he'd left her, he'd taken all the pain and fear and self-loathing, bundled it up, shoved it into the darkest corner of his mind and left it completely unexamined. It was absurd to be surprised that everything had come roaring back to the light the moment he dared open the Pandora's box where he'd hidden it. If he really wanted to be able to scene again, he'd have to deal with everything he'd hidden from for fifteen years.

 _Easier said than done_.

Obviously, there were things Castiel needed to reconsider. While perhaps Dean was right – _don't be stubborn, of course Dean is right_ – that Castiel's issues the previous day were primarily the result of subdrop, that didn't mean there hadn't been a kernel of truth in some of his thoughts. For example, just because he'd enjoyed public scenes in the past didn't mean they were a good idea for him now. His guilt over inadvertently involving his coworkers was legitimate. The standards he'd used to evaluate the kink list were those of "20-year-old Castiel;" in his late 30s, Castiel's desires and needs and expectations had shifted and he had to look at the list in light of who he was now, rather than who he had been. Heck, maybe there were things he hadn't liked that he now would.

Castiel let the thoughts percolate as he went about his day. The weather was unusually mild for June in Dallas, temperatures in the high 70s, so Castiel packed a bag, lathered his face with sunscreen and had the hotel call him a cab to take him to the Dallas Botanical Garden. It was gorgeous out, the Garden was crowded yet didn't feel so, there were flowers blooming everywhere, and Castiel managed to find a secluded spot to sit in privacy. The air smelled sweet, water burbled pleasantly from a nearby fountain, and Castiel felt centered, felt _himself_ in a way that he hadn't in a long, long time.

Seated amidst quiet serenity, Castiel found it easier to focus on the critical questions that he faced.

 _What do I want?_

 _I want to scene with Dean again_.

That much, at least, was clear. From there, things grew more muddled. How could he safely continue? How could he ensure that being a sub didn't interfere with his ability to do his job? How could he avoid subdrop in the future? How could they continue considering the necessary distance between them? Castiel couldn't see closing that distance, didn't dare risk an in-person relationship. The safety afforded to Castiel granted by cell phone, ensured by separating himself from Dean through the mediator of Skype, was essential to Castiel's peace of mind. After his conversations with Dean the previous day Castiel thought he might be able to trust himself to scene, but doing so in person was a completely different and far more problematic prospect. While Castiel was apart from Dean he could at least pretend to a semblance of self-control and self-determination.

A hot breeze promised rising temperatures and carried the scent of late-season lilacs. Spray from the fountain provided a cool counterpoint against Castiel's skin. The relationship would never have worked only as text messages. That, Castiel realized, had been a pipe-dream. Even when he'd thought about it, he'd not been sure _how_ such a relationship would work, he'd merely accepted that figuring out the dynamics of scening entirely by text was his doms responsibility. The answer, unsurprisingly, was that it didn't work. In order to scene, they'd integrated pictures and video, and even that couldn't compare to how arousing and satisfying their interactions had become when they'd used Skype. Slowly, a vision came together in Castiel's mind of how things might work in the future, integrating all the media they'd used thus far. When he was content with what he had in mind, when he was comfortable with it, when he found he was growing excited about it, he pulled out a book and leaned back in his bench, relaxing and reading, unwinding as he hadn't allowed himself to do in years.

In the morning, he'd talk to Dean, but for now, he was allowed to enjoy himself. For one wonderful afternoon, he could be content with himself and his achievements and his abilities. What he had accomplished was enough; he was allowed to say _I do not need to do more than what I've done_. It was a novel feeling, one that Castiel thought it would take some time for him to grow used to. He wanted to take that time, though. He wanted to deserve this.

* * *

"Hey, Cas, it's great to hear from you." Dean sounded relieved, as if he hadn't expected Castiel to call back. It was a good reminder that, while Dean was a dom, he was also a person and he could be vulnerable and worried and unsure of himself. That seemed inconceivable to Castiel – _the role of the dom is to be in control, to decide what constitutes appropriate behavior, to plan and execute the scene, to force me to their will, bend and break my control_ – but this wasn't the first sign he'd had that Dean wasn't infallible.

"I said I'd call," said Castiel. He was settled at the desk in his hotel room, laptop closed, a steaming cup of coffee resting on the table before him. On Friday, merely looking at the chair in which he'd debauched himself Thursday had been mortifying, but now that he felt better there was something strangely strengthening about sitting there. Dean had seen him in that chair, pleasured him in that chair, flattered and praised him there. It was absurd to credit any of that to the chair itself, yet sitting there, Castiel felt worthy and competent.

"Yeah, but you also said you'd text me Friday morning," Dean countered. Castiel felt a stab of guilt. "Fuck. I'm sorry. You were suffering and I could have picked up a phone and called you but I didn't. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, I did," Castiel objected.

"No, you—"

"I did, Dean," Castiel overrode him. _No, no, don't disagree, he's my dom, what he says is the truth…what he says is absolute…no. We have to communicate. I have to communicate with him, or else the same problems will arise again. I can do this_. "We had discussed ahead of time that I should communicate with you if I was distressed, yet I didn't outreach to you. I think you had and have a valid point as regards aftercare and, going forward, we need to do better at that, but that does not negate that I owed you an apology."

"Going…forward…?" Dean echoed hopefully. "You want to continue?"

"I do," said Castiel confidently. "Though depending on how things go, I may change my mind in the future."

"Of course," Dean said. "You're agreeing to do another scene with me, not to commit to me for life. What did you have in mind?"

 _It's not up to me, it's not…_

… _what if it is?_

"I'd prefer if you continue to take the lead in planning in our scenes," said Castiel. "May I hear your thoughts on improving our aftercare?"

Dean exhaled hard. "Alright, so, I'm assuming your trust in me is at least a bit repaired, or else you wouldn't be up for doing this…?"

"Yes, Dean. I trust you." He couldn't keep a smile off his face. The way Dean spoke when they weren't in a scene was the same light-hearted, congenial tone he'd taken in the messages that they'd exchanged on SextersAnon. It was a stark contrast to when Dean was playing the role of dom, and yet another wonderful reminder that "Dean the dom" wasn't the same as "Dean the person." Dean was so _different_ than the doms that Castiel had worked with before. There hadn't been any separation between "Naomi the dom" and "Naomi the person," any more than there had been a difference between "Castiel the sub" and "Castiel the person" when he was with her, nor had there been a division between "this is a scene" and "this is not a scene." They'd been together all the time and Naomi's word had been the absolute law that governed Castiel's existence. Thanks to her, thanks to their time together, Castiel's already good self-control had by necessity become excellent and only she got to decide when that self-control cracked. God help Castiel if he let anything slip without her permission, because Naomi had no mercy.

"…well, Cas?"

"Sorry, I missed the question," said Castiel. That was a perfect example. If Castiel had zoned out while listening to Naomi, there would have been hell to pay. Instead…

"No worries," Dean said brightly. "All I'm wondering is, what comforts you? What do you find soothing, when you're hurting?"

Pursing his lips, Castiel considered the answer. "Touch is good. I was thinking about it yesterday and Friday night – I think I'd like to be taken care of. I've been fed before and I've always enjoyed that very much, for example. Of course, given the distance, I'm not sure how to bring such a thing about."

"I've been thinking about that and I had an idea," said Dean. "That's where the trust comes in. If you wouldn't mind telling me where you live – not specifically, like, I don't need your address or anything – but in general, like what city or area, I could make arrangements for you to be taken care of. I mean, not creepy like 'someone shows up on your doorstep' kind of arrangements, obviously cause I don't have your address, but more like 'okay, Cas, now that this scene is done I've made reservations at this hotel for you to spend the night and arranged for a massage therapist to come to your room and for dinner to be sent.' Alternatively, I could do it as 'I've arranged for a massage for you at this address, so go there, and for dinner at this restaurant, and I've left them both my credit card number so none of it will get charged to you.' It's still not perfect because I guess I could still use that information to track you down and we're really trying to avoid that but at the same time it's the only way I can think of to make sure that you get the attention you need and deserve and so…yeah…I mean…well, what do you think, Cas? Would that work for you? Alternatively, we could—" Castiel started to laugh. "What? What is it?"

"Dean, you haven't let me get a word in edgewise," he managed around his laughter. "Do I make you that nervous?"

"Fuck yeah, you do," Dean replied weakly. "I want you, Cas. Like, I _really, really_ want you. I've never worked with a sub as responsive as you are. I should have realized that that level of responsiveness during scene would reflect a similar level of sensitivity out of a scene but I didn't, and so I nearly lost you. I don't want to fuck up again. If I want to scene with you, I've got to treat you right, and I'm gonna do my best."

"Your plan won't work—" said Castiel.

"Shit," Dean sounded intensely disappointed.

"—because I don't really _live_ anywhere," Castiel continued as if Dean hadn't interrupted him. _Am I allowed to think my dom is adorable?_ "I spend most of the year traveling for my job. So, for example, I'm in Dallas right now but I leave for the Ukraine on Monday and I'll be there for four days. From there, I go to Berlin for two days, Hamburg for one, Bruges for three, and Hong Kong for a week. I fly from Hong Kong to Seattle and I'll be in the US for a few weeks after that, though I've not memorized my entire itinerary. I can e-mail you a list, if you'd like."

"So you'll be out of the country for two and a half weeks? And when you return, you'll be in Seattle?"

"That's correct," said Castiel aloud when he realized how ineffectual nodding was.

"Do you have any days off in there?"

"Not while I'm abroad," Castiel said. "International travel is too expensive for me to waste any time. However, I've got the first day in Seattle off to recover from jetlag, and I think I scheduled a weekend for myself in early August."

"Three days off."

"Yes?"

"In two months."

"Yes, Dean."

"Dude, you work way too hard," said Dean, awed.

"I have an important job, Dean," Castiel said stiffly. "And I am well compensated for my work. A permanent home never had much to offer me, as I do not wish a family of my own," _and I could not trust myself in a relationship,_ "so I pursued this path instead. I find it rewarding."

"Hey, it's all good," Dean said apologetically. "But ya gotta take care of yourself."

"I thought that was your job."

"It is, now." Castiel could _hear_ Dean smiling and he loved the way it sounded. "So, let's plan on Seattle in two weeks. Would you rather I book you a hotel room, or make arrangements and tell you where to go?"

"Let's go with the second," said Castiel. "My employers pay for my accommodations on a corporate account. It would be a waste of your money to buy me a hotel room when I am already paying for one."

"Yes and no," Dean said. "If we do a scene that leaves you physically incapacitated, or even just exhausted, it would be awesome if I could send services directly to you. But no worries, I'll plan accordingly. We don't have to handle things the same every time, we can take things one scene and one city at a time. I'll send you the names of the services I'll be using ahead of time, that way you can check and make sure I'm not sending you somewhere they're gonna kidnap and murder you."

"I said I trust you," said Castiel with a frown.

"I know, Cas, I know…look, for my own peace of mind, will you double check the places and make sure you're comfortable with them? You bein' comfortable is the whole point," said Dean with fond exasperation. _Fond? Really? How?_ "And before that…you said you're in Dallas?"

"Until tomorrow morning," Castiel confirmed.

"That's awesome," said Dean. "One of the best sex shops I know is in Dallas, if you can believe it. I usually order the shit I need from the internet but Charlie's is so awesome that I've driven down a few times. I'm based in KC, by the way. I'd like to buy you some stuff, you can go pick it up and consider how I'm gonna have you use it. You got any supplies of your own, Cas?"

"No," said Castiel. "I don't use such things when I'm taking care of myself."

"Do you mind embarrassing the shit out of some TSA agents?" Dean asked with a chuckle.

"Not at all." Castiel smiled. "I'm sure they've seen worse. Heck, I've seen worse, and I don't spend that much time in airports."

"Alright, in that case, I'll give Charlie a buzz and I'll text you when the order is ready to go," said Dean. "The name of the place is 'Hack and Slash,' don't ask why unless you've got a couple hours to spare listening to the answer. You good, Cas?"

"I'm great, Dean."

"Awesome. Later, then!"

"Goodbye."

Castiel hung up. For a moment, he paused, breathed in deeply, let it out in a whoosh.

 _Am I really okay with this?_

 _Yes. I am. Or at least, I want to be. Dean is considerate. Dean treats me like a person. Dean gives me choices, gives me power, waits to hear what I wish before deciding for me. Yet, he wasn't lenient on me in the scene. He was an excellent dom while we were engaged in play, and he's a good man when we're not. I didn't choose poorly. I can do this. We can do this together._

 _I'm already excited for Seattle._

 _It feels good to_ want _again. It feels good to feel good again. I'm allowed to enjoy this – not because Naomi says I may, not because Dean says I may, but because I say I may._

 _I have to give myself permission. I have to trust myself. I have to believe in my own ability to regulate my behavior and keep this from taking over my life again._

 _I want this, and I'm allowed to have it._

* * *

Hack and Slash was located in a quiet strip mall in a small shopping neighborhood in an area of the city that Castiel was unfamiliar with. Next door to it was a mom-and-pop drug store; on the other side was a store selling a wide array of generic household décor. Unlike most sex shops Castiel had been to, where if there were any windows looking in they were either blacked out or filled with the kinkiest leather outfits that could be made to stay on a manikin, the window of Hack and Slash contained an enormous model of an articulated, stunningly painted dragon facing off against a manikin wearing a frightening monstrous mask, dressed in a regal medieval garb and somehow holding up a sword. Castiel had no idea what that had to do with sex toys, but it was an impressive display nonetheless. Shrugging off his curiosity, he opened the door, his arrival announced by a ringing bell.

"…my size?" asked a familiar voice. Panic seized Castiel as his gaze swept over the room and he took in racks of clothing like that worn by the manikin, a wall display of weaponry, a curtained doorway in the back of the room, and a sales counter manned by a cute red-head who was speaking to Zachariah Adler. At the sound of the bell, both turned towards the front door and Castiel dove behind the nearest display rack lest his coworker see him. The last thing he needed was for his kinky sex life to intersect with his job. Peeking around a display of corsets, Castiel grimaced when he saw Adler's smirk. He'd been spotted.

 _Leave now, don't pick up the stuff, call Dean and say I can't do it. No one can know I'm into BDSM. What will they think of me?_

"I'll have Gilda check the back," said the red-head brightly, unaware of the tension.

 _Wait, why is he here, what is he getting?_

 _No, it's none of my business, no more than it's his business that I'm here._

 _Why am I hiding?_

"Thank you," said Adler.

"Gilda!" shouted the woman.

Turning away, Castiel did his best to ignore the conversation going on behind him, making a show of looking at the weapons mounted on the wall. Swords, maces, there was even a bow with an incongruously neon orange string. At first he'd assumed they were normal weapons, hefty metal reproductions, but now that he was examining them he was sure they weren't. Whatever they were made of reflected the light like plastic or vinyl. Curious, he reached out and touched one. It gave slightly under his finger.

"They're foam," someone spoke quietly beside him. Castiel started. He could still hear Adler's saccharine suave voice speaking with the red-head. The woman at his side was beautiful, with tanned skin, delicate features and long hair curling about her shoulders. "Highest grade materials, sanctioned in most LARPs in the US. Are you shopping for a particular weapon? All the most common types are mounted here but we have a few others if you don't see what you're looking for. I'm pretty sure the shipment we got in last week included a flail and a glaive."

"No…I have no idea what you're talking about," Castiel admitted. "But they are very interesting and—"

"Be seeing you, Novak," Adler interrupted, voice snide and upsettingly knowing. Crimson colored Castiel's cheeks and he hunched his shoulders, wishing he could disappear. The woman made a startled noise but didn't comment. Thankfully, Castiel was spared making any reply as the bell rang and the door slammed shut behind Adler.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

Nodding, Castiel did his best to swallow down his shame. _Zachariah doesn't know why I'm here. He can't possibly know. Dammit, why did he have to be here?_ "Fine," he lied. "I didn't expect to see anyone I knew at…at a store like this." _Could he know about Thursday? Could he know about me? What must he think now?_

"Ah, are you here for our other merchandise, then?" the woman – Castiel thought she must be Gilda – said with a knowing smile.

"All the sexy stuff is in the back," the woman at the counter called over. Fortunately, there weren't any other patrons in the store. Castiel had never bought his own sex toys – another task he'd always left for his doms. He didn't think he could handle his embarrassment if anyone else saw him there. It was bad enough that Adler had. If leaving would fix things, Castiel might still flee. As it was, it was too late to prevent discovery and Dean had ordered toys specifically for Castiel to use. He'd be letting Dean down if he fled now.

"Um…" Castiel took a deep breath and turned towards the counter. "Actually, I'm here to pick up an order."

"Oh! Are you Dean's new sub? He's right, you are damn pretty." The woman at the counter smiled dazzlingly, eyes glittering in the clean, brightly lit store. The flush on Castiel's cheeks grew darker. "Cas, right? Gilda, do you have that box of stuff that Dean requested ready to go?"

"Of course, I'll go get it." Gilda turned from Castiel's side and headed back through the curtained doorway leading to the rest of the store, leaving Castiel alone with the red-head.

"Are you Charlie?" he asked hesitantly, approaching the counter. A large glass case, illuminated by a buzzing fluorescent light, supported the cash register. It was filled with glittering, garish jewelry, stereotypically historical looking, matching the motif of the garb sold in the front of the store. She nodded. "So, um, how do you know Dean?"

"I heard of him before I met him," she said. "He's pretty famous in BDSM circles, 'specially amongst those into shibari. His photography is regularly featured in magazines, he's even been in a couple films. As to how I met him? Hired him for my wedding." Everything Charlie said came across with the same cheerful affect. "And for my wedding night," she added with a wink. "Want to see?" Frowning, Castiel shook his head uncertainly, not clear on what she was offering. She laughed. "Judging by the things Dean picked out for you – yes, you do. Don't worry, it's not what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking it's pictures of either you or your spouse in sexually compromising positions."

"Okay, it's exactly what you're thinking." She laughed more. "Trust me, if you like Dean's photography, you'll be interested." Without waiting for his agreement, she pulled a photo album from beneath the counter. _How the hell often does she show this album to random strangers at her store that she stores it under the cash register?_ Setting the album down, she flipped to a random page in the middle and held it out for Castiel to see.

The image was gorgeous, black and white, showing Gilda bound in dark ropes that contrasted with her pale skin. The clear implication was that she and Charlie were married, and that Charlie was a dom and Gilda was her sub. Castiel's imagination conjured up a fantasy of Charlie's chipper voice teasing and coaxing the demure, beautiful woman to behave, and he swallowed hard against arousal. Thus far, Castiel had only seen Dean's work with male models, but he was no less talented at displaying the beauty of a woman, equally skilled at placing ropes to highlight sweeping curves and a narrow waist as he was at constraining powerful limbs and taut muscle. Gilda looked spectacular, every gorgeous curve of her body amplified by the ways in which she was tied and the angles of the photographs.

(IMAGE 1 and IMAGE 2)

"Isn't she perfection?" said Charlie with a happy sigh, admiring the photographs as Castiel flipped through the pages. "Hun, can we do another photoshoot sometime?"

"Hm?" Gilda said as she returned to the room bearing a box. Castiel's nerves flared. How much had Dean gotten him? Where was he going to pack it all? Gilda started and flushed a delicate rose when she saw what they were looking at. "Oh, yes. Perhaps we could take another class, too?"

"Dean teachers classes on rope techniques," Charlie explained, noting Castiel's questioning expression. "He taught me this tie." She flipped to an image of Gilda bound from waist to knee, trussed up so tightly she couldn't move. As beautiful as Gilda looked, the image wasn't sexual. She was a work of art.

(IMAGE 3)

"Have you done any shibari, Cas?" asked Gilda politely, setting the closed box down on the counter beside him. He turned to the next page, which showed Charlie, expression intent and worshipful, binding a serene-looking Gilda whose eyes had slipped reverently shut.

Castiel shook his head. He'd never encountered such complex bondage until he saw Dean's photography, but now the more he saw the more he wanted to try. Every image he'd seen of Dean's work enticed him more. He could easily imagine himself tied as Gilda was, cock trapped between his legs, arms secure, every breath pressing against the ropes binding his chest, unable to move. It looked relaxing, comfortable even, though he couldn't have said what about being trussed head to toe conveyed that impression to him. Perhaps it was the tranquil look on Gilda's face? Castiel wasn't sure, but he wanted to find out.

 _I'd be trapped – I wouldn't be able to move – wouldn't be able to escape. Shouldn't that scare me?_

It should, it truly should, yet knowing that it was Dean who'd be in command – knowing that Dean wouldn't be physically present, that Castiel would be binding himself at Dean's behest – kept the small flicker of panic at bay.

 _Dean can't possess me._

 _Dean isn't Naomi._

"Call it a hunch but I think you're going to," Charlie said. Castiel stared at her blankly; lost in his thoughts, he'd lost the thread of conversation. By way of explanation, she withdrew a large hank of beautiful blue rope from the box. Thinking about how Dean would use the rope – how Dean would instruct Castiel to use that rope – had Castiel hardening, his cheeks heating with a flush. He tore his gaze from the rope and looked up to see both women smiling at him with identical knowing expressions. Ashamed, Castiel looked away again.

"Aw...you're _adorbs_ , look how shy he is!" cooed Charlie.

"Charlie, don't tease him," Gilda scolded. Castiel started; he couldn't imagine talking to his dom in that tone, not without consequences. While Castiel supposed he would never see the private repercussions of Gilda's words, the only public retribution was Charlie sticking her tongue out and making a silly noise in the back of her throat. It was hard for him to believe, watching them, that there was anything unusual about their relationship. Maybe there wasn't anything unusual about it? Maybe they enjoyed rope play but there was no D/s component? Maybe he was misunderstanding? The pictures were undeniable, though, each featured Gilda tied up. It wasn't any of his business.

 _But if they can have a loving, supportive relationship even though they're a dom and a sub..._

… _I didn't think that was possible._

"Don't worry so much, Cas, Dean is going to take good care of you," promised Charlie. Her gentle smile transformed into a smirk as she withdrew the other items from the box, though, significantly weakening the impact of the message. It was hard not to stare at the assortment and impossible not to consider what they meant for his future: a dildo with a suction cup to attach it to a wall or other surface; a half dozen travel-sized bottles of lubricant; a box labeled _Fleshlight Classic Pink Butt_ ; a vibrating anal plug; a cock ring with a remote control and, supposedly, ten unique stimulation modes; a small unlabeled box; and a dozen loose double A batteries.

"Just so you know, the plug and the ring are custom models I modified myself – Dean will be able to change their settings long-distance," said Charlie. "I've boxed up the remotes to ship to him, he should get them in the next few days."

"Oh," Castiel replied faintly. His pulse was so loud in his ears he had trouble hearing her. "Um. Good."

Charlie laughed until she was gasping and clutching her sides in pain, all under Gilda's watchful, fond smile. Unsure what to do, Castiel re-packed the box, glad that there wasn't more since he'd have to fit everything in his luggage. _There's plenty. Does Dean intend to use_ all of this _when I get to Seattle?_

"How much do I owe you?" asked Castiel when there was a break in Charlie's humor. The question somehow prompted fresh gales; Castiel grimaced.

"Dean's already paid," Gilda explained, shaking her head. "Darling..."

"I know, I know, but..." Charlie gasped. "Listen, Cas, if you could see the look on your face...dammit, Dean made me promise not to scare the shit out of you, he's gonna kill me. Cas – Cas, don't worry – he's good people. I've done some scenes with him, he knows his stuff. I know you don't know me either and have no reason to believe me, but you're a lucky man. He's not going to murder you in your sleep, I promise."

 _She's done scenes with Dean…so is she a sub, even though Gilda is the one tied up? Or does Dean sometimes switch? Is switching something people do?_

Every revelation from Charlie raised questions that Castiel had never thought to ask. He'd considered himself well-educated about BDSM practice but he'd misunderstood about subdrop and now he was realizing there was a great deal more he'd misinterpreted or simply missed.

 _I need to start from the ground up, clearly. It must be that my own experiences, my own biases, governed how I searched, what I read, what I believed, how I understood things._

 _Maybe, if I learn more, if Dean can teach me more, if things work out and I can maintain the division between my sex life and my professional life…maybe this is something I could have in my life,_ really _have in my life?_

 _That's so tempting it's terrifying._

Gilda reached past him, opened the box once more, and pulled out the unlabeled smaller box within. "This is a small aftercare kit," she said. "I put it together based on the one that we use after scenes, with some of my favorite things. You'll want to customize it, though, and refill it as you use things up." Opening the box, Gilda pulled out an energy bar, an instant ice pack, a heating pad, a small first aid kit, a handful of wet wipes, vitamin K cream, tubes of heparin and triple antibiotic cream, and a floppy stuffed cat. Castiel cracked a smile at the last. It was irresistibly cute. "You'll take care of him, won't you? I've had him a long time." Startled, Castiel looked up and met Gilda's dark, beautiful eyes. "Dean mentioned that your past doms haven't taken good care of you. I've had some bad experiences, too, and I don't want you to hurt. I thought maybe if I included Carrie, when you saw her it'd remind you that people care and that you need to look after yourself." As she spoke, she packed the kit up once more, leaving the stuffed toy out.

Tentatively, Castiel reached out and pet the cat. The fur was soft and felt nice against his fingers. He'd never indulged himself with anything like it; even as a child his family had been against frivolous toys.

"Thank you," he said, more moved than he could express. Charlie stared at Gilda as if she was a precious treasure.

 _Is it possible that Dean would ever look at me like that?_

 _No. That couldn't happen. I'm not a good enough sub, that's not how my relationships work. Naomi said..._

 _Fuck Naomi. Dean is not Naomi. I will say that to myself as many times as I must, however many times it takes until I believe it. Dean_ is not _Naomi._

"I should go," Castiel said uncomfortably. The two women were now sharing an intimate look; Castiel felt increasingly like an intruder. "Thanks for everything."

"Take my card," Charlie said, tearing her attention from her wife with obvious difficulty. She reached beneath the desk and pulled out a business card, placing it atop the box of Dean's gifts. "If you ever need anything – and I don't just mean sex toys or boffer LARP equipment – give us a call. Especially if Dean ever hurts you. I'll rip his balls off. Not that I think he will," she added hastily, "I mean it when I say Dean is good people but he's an idiot sometimes and just…yeah, we've got your back, Cas."

"That's not necessary," protested Castiel.

"It's absolutely necessary," Gilda said, eyes glittering, standing up straight. For a moment, she reminded Castiel of a Valkyrie. "No dom has the right to do things to us that we have not agreed to. When you cannot protect yourself, Cas, remember that there are others that will protect you. Not from Dean – Dean won't hurt you, Charlie is just kidding – but in general. We're here if you need someone, okay?"

Embarrassed, flattered, confused, touched, Castiel could find no words to reply. Instead he nodded, tears in his eyes, took the box of sex toys and stepped out to his waiting cab.

 _Whatever else I do or do not know about Dean, it's clear he has good friends, friends that seem to be good people. That surely implies that he is himself a good person._

 _But I want this to work out well so badly, how am I supposed to trust my assessment?_

 _And why would someone like Dean need to turn to to find a sub? Surely he could have any sub he wanted…why there? Why me?_

Sighing, Castiel prayed that his doubts wouldn't eat at him for the two weeks to come.

* * *

I put together a collage of Castiel's box of presents, it's (IMAGE 4) in the Tumblr post I mention in the intro note. :)


	3. Chapter 3

So, a few notes going into this last chapter.

1\. People keep asking me in comments if Dean and Cas are going to meet. The answer is yes, eventually, but not in this story. I have five or six stories in mind for this 'verse. Further, I had been waffling on whether to write them all now or if I should go focus on another story and then come back to this one after...I've decided to finish this 'verse off before I go work on other stuff, so I'll be starting the next story in the series immediately now that I've finished this one. If you're on AO3, subscribe to the series, NOT the individual stories, to get further updates. If you're on ...you're SOL cause I don't yet know what I'm gonna name the next one, but if you Follow me, you'll get updates on anything I post.

2\. I got some questions on FFdotnet asking for clarification on a few points regarding Dean as a dom and the exclusivity of their relationship. First - in case people reading on FFdotnet didn't realize, this story is a sequel to my story SextersAnondotCom. So read that first or else this'll make no sense at all. Second...that's a good question, ain't it, and it hasn't been addressed yet... (for folks who only use AO3, on , people can post reviews but I can't reply to them directly and it's annoying...)

3\. Cock Rings. So, this chapter features a cock ring. If you've read a lot of fic you've probably read stories where cock rings are used to prevent orgasm. That's what cock rings do, right? NO THEY DON'T OMG IT DRIVES ME CRAZY. I hate to burst bubbles but that's a total myth and the extent to which it's perpetuated in fanfic really bugs me because literally 60 seconds on Google can debunk it. So, I use a cock ring in this story and no, they don't prevent male orgasms, though they can improve male pleasure, and they can help a man stay harder longer, and various other pluses. And the one that Dean got Cas vibrates! So that's a good thing. For Cas, anyway. ;) I mean don't get me wrong enjoy whatever fantasy you want that's all cool with me, but I prefer a bit more realism than that personally...

4\. Um...so...I love you guys, and I love comments, but can you please stop leaving me comments that beg me to update faster? I update as quickly as I can; I work full time and I have a newborn to take care of and a house to see to and a relationship to maintain and I'd like to have some kind of social life and I really enjoy NOT be stressed out of my mind all the time. When you urge me to update faster, while I appreciate the sentiment, it has literally no impact on how quickly I'm able to produce but it does make me feel lousy. Since I'm sure that's no one's intention...please just don't do it anymore.

...anyway, onward!

* * *

 _Dean (June 12_ _th_ _, 6:15 AM):_ And no masturbating!

Dean's final text before Castiel boarded his plane taunted him during the weeks he was away. They'd agreed not to communicate by text while he was abroad, though they'd exchanged a few emails renegotiating their boundaries and discussing the issues that had arisen in the wake of their first scene. Dean had recommended Castiel online resources with which he could reeducate himself, and while he was skeptical of some of what he read, he was also optimistic. Castiel wanted to believe that couples as happy as Charlie and Gilda were real and that he might be able to achieve something similar someday, wanted to believe that there was a chance he could have a relationship with someone he cared about and who cared about him that he would also find sexually fulfilling. Wanting to believe wasn't the same as actually believing. Though his understanding was expanding he resolved not to get ahead of himself. Until he could trust himself to know his own limits, there was no point in considering a serious relationship.

Work occupied most of Castiel's time. While he was in flight, he reviewed documents, dealt with e-mails, wrote reports, and communicated with his team and his superiors. Upon arrival at his locations, he prepared for his meetings, spoke with clients and potential clients, negotiated and sealed deals that would help propel the company to even greater success in the future. His schedule did not leave much down time; usually his lightest work weeks were around sixty hours and while he was abroad it was normal for him to work eighty or more. Usually, Castiel didn't find it difficult to focus on work, even over such long hours.

 _Knees grinding against the hard tiles of the bathroom floor as he thrust himself up and down on the large cock suctioned in place beneath him._

Usually, Castiel wouldn't have considered masturbating over a two week period when he was so intensely busy.

 _Trying to keep his cool, trying to keep from coming, as the cock ring vibrates with ever-increasing intensity, rattling his bones._

Usually, sex was the last thing on Castiel's mind, his self-control making it easy to ignore his urges as he'd ignored them for years before.

 _Bound from sternum to knees, arms affixed to his sides, the only stimulation to his aching body coming from the plug wedged hard against his prostate._

Usually, Castiel was not confronted by a delicious array of sex toys every time he opened his suitcase.

 _Gagged with his tie, hands tied with a tight slip knot, his cock buried in the fleshlight, watching Dean get himself off with the cock he used as a surrogate for Castiel._

Ignoring the toys was impossible. Not thinking about them, about how Dean might use them, was impossible. Castiel was allowed to desire again, and with that permission came _want_ , simple and unadulterated. Dean was gorgeous and smart and talented and apparently famous and fucking _perfect_. Whatever awaited Castiel, he was sure that it would be phenomenal and he craved it like an addict craved their next fix.

 _Blindfolded, cuffed, worked into senseless pleasure by nothing but the sound of Dean's gorgeous voice._

It scared him. It scared him that he wanted so badly so soon, it scared him how often he thought about their next scene, it scared him that he went to sleep hard so many nights, and it scared him that his attention wandered during his meetings. No amount of reprimanding himself could maintain his focus. He was able to keep up the _appearance_ of focus, but _actual_ focus eluded him. It was mortifying how much time he spent thinking about Dean.

 _Sitting in a meeting, vibrator up his ass, trying to stay calm as the vibration ramps up and up and up._

He couldn't continue this way. The time separating him from his day off in Seattle felt endless and his low-key arousal was a constant distraction. If he couldn't get the situation under control after he and Dean next scened, Castiel really _would_ have to end things. He couldn't afford to be consumed by this. Self-control was about more than sustaining his erection or forestalling his orgasm. He had to find the strength to keep his thoughts on task, to not dwell and obsess over their nascent relationship.

 _Lying in bed, bruised and aching, strong arms around him, a firm chest pressed to his back, soft fake fur on a plush cat toy soothing against his aching skin as he held it close._

No. That, at least, he definitely was not allowed to have. He couldn't meet Dean. He didn't dare indulge in person. If he couldn't control himself when they were thousands of miles apart, there was no way he could keep from getting in too deep if they were together.

 _But it would be nice, it would be so nice…_

The arrangements Dean had made for Castiel's after care came the same day that Castiel arrived in Hong Kong. A massage was scheduled at 6 PM at a place called _Heavenly Spa_ , followed by dinner at a restaurant on the same block that had exceptional reviews and a James Beard Award-winning chef. Castiel did only minimal research; he wasn't worried that Dean was secretly a serial killer, Castiel was worried about his own ability to handle the emotional rigors of a sexual relationship. Part of him still persisted in thinking Dean perfect, even though he could understand intellectually that Dean wasn't, that even their first scene and initial negotiation had been flawed. The initial deficiency of aftercare had been an issue and had been, undeniably, entirely Dean's oversight. Being cared for and looked after had made a significant difference in how Castiel felt. On some level, he doubted that the same would prove true again, but he'd give it another try at least.

 _Of course I feel terrible after a scene. The things I enjoy are twisted, and I'm disgusting for wanting them._

 _But what if I'm not? What if Dean and Charlie and Gilda are right, that it's alright to desire these things?_

 _Would that mean that Naomi was right too? Was she right about me?_

 _I don't want to hurt Dean._

 _Dean isn't Naomi_.

 _Dean isn't perfect, but he isn't Naomi._

Every time Naomi crossed Castiel's mind, he felt ill, anxious, disgusted with himself. Every time he thought of her, he realized after a few days, his symptoms mirrored the subdrop that he'd experienced after the scene with Dean. It was a troubling pattern and one that scared him as surely as his obsession with his next scene scared him. On the plus side, when he thought of her his arousal dimmed and he was able to focus. The determination that had pushed him through the fifteen years since he'd left her inevitably rebounded whenever he reflected on the things she had said to him, the things they had done together, and with that determination stiffening his resolve he was able to focus on work. Compounded by his decision not to repress his past any longer, he found himself thinking of her more often than he had at any point since they'd separated. Feeling sick with self-recrimination was better than growing hard during important meetings.

 _Dean isn't Naomi_.

 _But if he ever knew what she said about me, what she did to me, he'd become like her. If he became like her, would I revert to behaving as I did when I was with her? Why am I doing this to myself again?_

 _Because I want it, I want this, I want to give over control, I want Dean, I_ want _so much._

Castiel had signed up for SextersAnon because he'd finally reached the point where the extent to which he desired was more than he could ignore. Instead of scratching the itch and resolving the issue, Castiel had one scene and now he wanted more than ever.

 _I'm scared._

Educating himself more about BDSM didn't help.

 _I'm scared._

Contemplating his desires and needs didn't help.

 _I'm so damn scared._

Sometimes, it felt like nothing helped.

 _But when I talk to Dean, when we exchange texts, when we send each other e-mails, I don't feel frightened. I feel good. I feel good enough._

 _I can't wait until I get to Seattle._

Castiel's plane landed at Sea-Tac punctually at 9:20 AM landing time. The flight had left Hong Kong at 11 AM local time, and though they'd spent only twelve hours in transit, it was the next morning. Excited about the day to come, Castiel had been unable to sleep during the trip despite the lowered cabin lights and the quiet, soothing hiss of the ventilation. As soon as the plane landed Castiel turned his phone on and was greeted by a slew of text messages from Dean.

 _Dean (6:33 AM):_ Welcome back to the United States, Thursday.

 _Dean (6:34 AM):_ I hope you had a good flight. Let me know you've landed safely.

 _Dean (6:35 AM):_ I've had a lot of ideas, but I still haven't been able to make up my mind.

 _Dean (6:35 AM):_ Hardly slept last night thinking about finally having you at my mercy again.

 _Dean (6:38 AM):_ You make the prettiest sounds when you're trying to hold yourself back.

 _Dean (6:39 AM):_ I loved watching you hold yourself back.

 _Dean (6:39 AM):_ I loved watching you crack.

 _Dean (6:40 AM):_ Are you gonna crack for me today Cas?

 _Dean (6:41 AM)_ : I haven't decided if I'll let you yet.

 _Dean (6:55 AM):_ So many possibilities…

 _Dean (6:59 AM):_ Fuck if I don't stop now I'm gonna lose it and I still have to wait like four hours.

 _Dean (7:02 AM):_ One last question. Exhausted or not exhausted?

 _Castiel (9:24 AM):_ We've landed in Seattle.

 _Castiel (9:24 AM):_ Sir.

Reading through Dean's messages again, heart pounding with anticipation, Castiel stared at Dean's concluding question. He simultaneously loved and hated that Dean kept giving him choices. Dean was his dom, he should be responsible for all of the important decisions related to their scenes. Yet, having choices meant Castiel felt powerful, he felt important and cared for and cared about. In the past, Castiel had felt strong only when he maintained his self-control, but when Dean let Castiel indicate his preferences, it leant Castiel at least the illusion that he had some control over their scenes – that he had some control over the ways in which Dean would cause him to lose control. Part of him rebelled against that – _the whole point is that Dean is in control and I am not!_ – but the part of him that was afraid that he'd lose too much of himself loved that Dean wanted to share decisions with him.

 _Castiel (9:28 AM):_ Exhausted, sir.

 _Dean (9:31 AM):_ Don't worry Cas. I'm going to take such good care of you and I'll tuck you in safe and sound when we're done. You've earned a rest.

 _Castiel (9:32 AM):_ If you say so, sir. I'll do my best.

Removing his clothing felt good. He'd been wearing the same suit since he'd left his hotel room in Hong Kong almost twenty hours earlier, and he felt rumpled, dirty, used up. His jacket came off first, unbuttoned and hung on a hanger that he'd set on his bed for the purpose. He'd have the hotel staff dry clean it for him tomorrow.

"Fastidious, aren't you?" said Dean, humor warming his voice.

"I try to take care of my belongings, sir," Castiel said, tugging his tie loose as he spoke.

"Funny, so do I," Dean chuckled. Without saying another word, Dean conveyed a world of insinuation with the quirk of an eyebrow. Castiel's laptop sat open on the cherry-wood desk of his hotel room, camera facing towards Castiel as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. Dean watched Castiel's every move, and Castiel watched Dean with equal attention. "What, no sexy strip tease?"

"You didn't tell me I should be sexy about it, sir," said Castiel, troubled. _Is he upset with me? Have I done it wrong?_ He shrugged out of his shirt. All that Dean had said was that Castiel should remove his clothing, he hadn't specified _how_ Castiel should do so.

"Don't worry 'bout it," Dean said, shaking his head. "You'd be sexy reading the phone book while dressed as a Teletubby."

Settling on to the edge of the bed, Castiel leaned over to remove his shoes and socks. "Furries and juvenilization were both on my 'red' list, sir, and on yours as well, I believe," he deadpanned.

"Sassy, Cas? I had no idea…" There was the hint of a reprimand in Dean's voice. "I'll let it go, but be careful. That kind of attitude will get you in trouble."

 _I'm not sure I'd mind getting in trouble today…_ "Yes, sir."

Castiel unbuckled his belt as he rose, undid the fly and button on his pants and let them fall to the ground. Retrieving them, he folded them neatly. Even if he was having them cleaned tomorrow, that was no reason to let them grow wrinkled and messy. Down to only his undershirt and underwear, he paused for a moment. He was half-hard simply from observing Dean's perusal of him; Dean's eyes skimmed over his body, expression neutral. Flushing under the inspection, Castiel averted his eyes, removed his shirt quickly, balled it up and tossed it aside. His underwear followed.

It was strange to think that, as intimate as they'd been in their first scene, Dean had yet to see him naked. Returning his gaze to the screen, Castiel inspected Dean's face for a hint of his reaction, but Dean remained impassive. Nonetheless, Castiel knew Dean was taking in every detail.

 _Is this how he looks at his models? Assessingly, coldly, distantly?_

Castiel looked away. The room was silent save for the distant rush of traffic passing by on the street below. The carpet was plush and burgundy, scratchy beneath Castiel's feet. Standing still and waiting for Dean to give him further instructions, Castiel allowed his sight to go out of focus. He was tired and nervous, unpleasantly tense, and his skin prickled into goosebumps in the chilly air of the room.

"You cold?" asked Dean abruptly.

"Yes, sir."

"I told you to make sure the room was comfortable," Dean reprimanded.

"I'm fine, sir." Castiel resisted the urge to shift guiltily. He _was_ fine, he liked the cold: it kept him grounded, kept him alert despite his fatigue.

"Turn the thermostat up," Dean said with a sigh.

Reluctantly, Castiel crossed the room to the temperature controls and switched it from sixty-five to sixty-six.

 _I don't need it warmer, I like the bite of the air against my skin. This is what I want, this is what I deserve. I've been so full of doubt even after all the sweet, reassuring things he said to me, the things he bought me, the kindness that Gilda and Charlie showed me. I haven't been a good sub._

"Cas!" Dean barked angrily. Castiel's shoulders tensed in response, wondering how much Dean could make out of the room. "Turn it to 75." Repressing a sigh, Castiel obeyed. "What is with you today?"

 _I've been looking forward to this so much and I shouldn't be, it's wrong that I want this, it's wrong that I want you to whip me for my disobedience, it's wrong, I'm all wrong._

"Nothing, sir." Stripped bare, across the room from his monitor, Dean had a sustained view of Castiel's back, of the scars striping him from past whippings, the exterior flaws that revealed every internal failing. His front was mostly unmarred, the small marks left by burns and cuts invisible unless Castiel reddened, but no one could see his back without knowing _something_ out of the ordinary had happened to him.

"I gave you the opportunity to opt out of doing a scene today when you logged on to Skype," Dean's voice was stern, exasperated, and Castiel thought he heard a hint of disappointment in there as well. The combination was like a blow to the gut. Castiel wanted Dean to be angry with him.

 _I want him to punish me, that's why I'm being difficult, I want him to punish me because I'm useless, because shouldn't I want to be his completely, shouldn't I want to give myself over to him? Isn't the fact that I want to continue my job, that I consider my dom an interference to my daily life, isn't that a problem? He claimed me. I'm supposed to be his, entirely his, but I don't want that. I want to be his some of the time, and my own the rest of the time._

"I want to scene with you today, sir," Castiel said firmly, turning to face the camera once more. Dean's eyes were narrowed, his lips thin, expression unhappy.

"Are you going to tell me why you're being a brat?" asked Dean. Castiel shook his head. "Cas…" Dean added warningly.

"No, sir."

"No, nothing is the matter, or no, you're not going to tell me?"

"I'm not going to tell you," Castiel said, well aware of how sullen – how _bratty_ – he sounded.

"Even understanding the consequences?" Dean continued.

"The consequences are for you to decide, sir," Castiel replied, staring through the image of Dean on his computer monitor.

"Fine," snapped Dean. "Cas, you won't be coming today. That's not your punishment – that was always part of the plan – but you will be stimulated, and you will be watching me come. Further, I'll let you get away with not telling me now but we _will_ be discussing this before we scene again. I do not like disobedient boys and I do not like bratty subs. It's not my job to punish you or pester you into behaving with basic manners. If you cannot be bothered to at least _try_ to act like an adult, I can't be bothered to reeducate you. Do you understand?" Grimacing, Castiel nodded. He'd earned the reprimand and then some. " _Do you understand_?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel said crisply. He already felt better. Dean, his dom, was firmly in control and all was right with the world. Castiel didn't have to make any more decisions. He was back in a world where things were simple: obedience earned rewards, control earned release, and misbehavior earned punishment.

"Good," said Dean. "Color?"

"Green, sir," Castiel replied. He could meet Dean's green-eyed gaze now, demure from it as he ought.

Dean released his irritation with a disgruntled sigh. "Very good. Alright. Our first time together was enjoyable and the pictures you posted on SextersAnon were adequate – barely – but now that we are at our leisure I'd like to examine my boy. Sit on the bed."

After all the mental anguish and consternation, obedience was, as it had always been, easy. _Too easy._ Castiel took a seat on the edge of the bed facing the camera, body harshly illuminated by the midmorning light suffusing the room through the large window overlooking the city.

"Hands above your head."

Castiel lifted his arms high, stretching out the fine muscles of his chest and torso.

"Twist left."

Castiel obeyed.

"Twist right."

Over the hour that followed, Dean put Castiel through his paces as if he were a prize pony. He knelt, stood, lay down, and squatted. He displayed his arms, leg, chest, back, ass, mouth, even his fingers for the camera. He did stretches, held poses, and even did jumping jacks, limp cock and balls slapping against his thighs with each jump. Dean called out commands crisply, unequivocally, and Castiel obeyed mindlessly, blissfully empty of any anxiety or reflective, reflexive introspection. Throughout, Dean gave no indication of what he thought but even that didn't concern Castiel. Dean was not one to pretend to satisfaction he did not feel; if he were unhappy with Castiel's performance, Dean would tell him forthrightly.

"One final thing," Dean said at length. Waiting patiently, Castiel didn't nod, didn't move, didn't betray with heavy breathing that the jumping jacks had winded him slightly. All he had to do was heed Dean's instructions. "Bend over the bed, back to me, ass to the camera." The air in the room was warm now, almost overly so, helping to fuzz out Castiel's thoughts as he took up the requested position. "Spread your cheeks." Reaching back, Castiel grasped his ass, pulled his cheeks apart to expose his perineum and taint to the camera. Silence stretched out; the longer it went the more heavily Castiel felt the weight of Dean's gaze upon him. His heart rate jumped, his muscles flinched and clenched involuntarily. The ring of his rim fluttered at nothing; he preferred to top but he'd bottomed as well: he enjoyed prostate stimulation an embarrassing amount, he'd been rimmed and fucked and pegged by past partners until he was delirious with pleasure. He'd come from nothing but vibration against his prostate; he'd gone to bed still achingly hard with a toy wedged deep inside him; he'd begged for release and been denied while riding another sub for his dom's amusement. Some activities he'd enjoyed more than others, but with comfortable certainty Castiel knew he'd do any again if Dean asked. His hardening cock thickened against the coarse, dark cloth of the bedspread.

"Nice," said Dean appreciatively. "Very nice, Thursday. You've taken excellent care of that body for me."

"Thank you, sir," Castiel's voice had dropped low and grown rough. Dean admired him. Dean was, finally, pleased with him. The approval spread hot through Castiel, loosening his muscles, freeing his thoughts. All that existed was Dean's next command.

 _I belong to him_.

A flash of panic threatened to pull Castiel from his comfortable headspace.

 _No, no, I belong to me, I chose to be here and I can choose not to be, he doesn't own me, I'm not his—_

 _No!_

Dean spoke, but Castiel couldn't hear over his frantic thoughts.

 _Dean doesn't mean forever._

Determined to keep Dean from seeing the extent of his distress, Castiel attempted to self-correct.

 _Dean only means in the context of this scene – and I know when this scene will end. My massage is at 6 tonight. The scene will be over by then and I'll be my own person again._

"Is there a problem, Thursday?" Over the rush of blood and air that filled his ears, Castiel could make out Dean's voice again.

 _Dean_ is not _Naomi._

"Yes, sir." He sounded steady and in control when he spoke.

 _I am in control. I am in control of myself._

"Color?"

 _I'm in control of the scene. If I said 'red' right now, I know he'd stop. I know it._

"Green."

 _How can I be sure until I try it?_

 _Because Dean isn't Naomi. I have to be sure that Dean isn't Naomi._

"Spread that pretty hole open for me," ordered Dean, voice husky.

Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Castiel shifted his hands so that only one was holding his cheeks spread. With the other, he brushed dryly over his ass. The muscles were tight, the pucker pinched, wrinkled and tight. He hadn't touched himself there in years. He'd been tempted from time to time, but it had been too much of an indulgence and so he'd denied himself. Dean gave him permission to indulge, though. _I'm not doing this for me – I'm doing it for him_. Pressing his pointer against the rim, he rubbed hard, sparking long-forgotten pleasure that tickled through his limbs, though his body, promised so much more. Thinking of the toys that Dean had bought him, Castiel pushed the tip of his finger in, breathing carefully so as not to betray by sound or movement how good it felt. He was in control. What he did he didn't do for himself. But _fuck_ did it feel good, he'd forgotten how good, he'd forgotten how difficult it was not to gasp, not to groan, not to arch his back, not to thrust into himself as hard and deep as he could. The burn of penetrating himself dry was fantastic, the stretch of his rim was amazing, the feeling of having something inside him was beyond stimulating. His vision blanked to nothing but the deep brown of the coverlet and he blinked slowly and deliberately, trying to keep himself calm as his blood ran molten.

"I said spread it, Cas," Dean snapped. Castiel flinched at his tone. He'd gotten too distracted by how good it felt to have something inside him again, he'd gotten too distracted from his order. For a moment, he'd forgotten whose pleasure he was supposed to be gratifying. Using a second finger, Castiel thrust into himself once, a burst of mingled pain and pleasure searing through him, then withdrew both fingers to the rim and pulled them apart, stretching the opening as wide as he could. Shame colored his cheeks faintly; he hadn't cleaned himself, not expecting anal play. He'd contacted Dean as soon as he'd arrived in his hotel room. It hadn't even occurred to him to do further preparation, he was so eager to begin the scene.

 _I should have known, I should have anticipated my doms desires and expectations…_

"Nice," said Dean. "Just like the rest of you – damn nice, Cas. Make such a pretty picture for me, bent over that bed with your asshole just begging to be filled."

 _It's okay, he's not upset. I didn't make him unhappier with me._

There was a faint sound, the swish-swish of flesh on flesh, and though Castiel could see nothing but the bedding before him, he was certain that Dean was touching himself. The realization flared hot through his body as he imagined Dean masturbating to the thought of filling Castiel. His hips twitched up towards the hand on his cheek, his muscles tried to clench against his fingers and instead forced them unsatisfyingly out of his body, his cock bucked and rubbed at cloth, and Castiel couldn't repress a gasp at the heady burst of combined sensations. Dean chuckled. "You'd like that, huh, Thursday? And here I thought you were a top."

"Am…" Castiel managed. He could hear Dean's hand more loudly now and it was all he could do not to rock his hips in time to the sound, in time to the imagined thrusts of Dean into his body. "I am, sir, but it'd feel good…I want to make you feel good…"

"Don't worry, you do," Dean said soothingly. The simple words brought a surprising surge of relief. "One of these days we'll have to explore this more thoroughly. I wonder if I could get you off just like this – you listening to me, knowing what you do to me, knowing what I'd do to you, lying there still and so damn well behaved. Such a pretty little hole for me, Cas, such a well-behaved boy. Bet you'd beg for me to let you use one of those toys, bet you'd make the pretty noises when I said no, bet you could come just from me talking you through it, just from that delicious imagination of yours conjuring up every little feeling as I punch into your body over," Dean snapped the word out harshly, Castiel's hips thrust against the bed, dragging his cock over the fabric, pleasure so bright Castiel couldn't help but gasp, "and over," Castiel could hear the wet sound of Dean stroking himself; he could imagine thick, gorgeous cock buried deep inside him, strong thighs slapping against his hips, _fuck_ , it would be glorious, "and over again." Dean was right. Castiel could absolutely come this way.

"But not today. And if you come today, maybe never," Dean threatened. Bunching the blankets in clenched fists, Castiel forced himself back to calm, forced himself back into stillness, forced himself back into control. "Get the cock ring and the rope and then kneel on the bed facing the camera."

The bins in Castiel's suitcase had been rearranged to accommodate his new collection of sex toys, which fortunately took up much less space unpacked than they had when he'd first collected them. Sparing a fond look for the stuffed kitty, which was packed in with them, Castiel retrieved the bundle of rope and the ring. Returning to the bed, Castiel lay the two where Dean could see and then settled on to his hands and knees. Dean wasn't before the camera, so Castiel waited patiently for his return. When Dean did, he was holding a rope of his own; he sat further back from the camera so that Castiel could see Dean's entire body. He was fully clothed, only a bulge in the front of his jeans to betray his arousal.

"No, not like that," Dean said. "Settle back on your ass." Uncertain what Dean meant, Castiel lowered his hips. "Sit up, Cas." Blushing, embarrassed – _that should have been obvious, he said kneel_ \- Castiel settled back on his haunches and sat up. His erect cock stuck out before him obscenely, bright red compared to the pale flesh of his thighs. The heat flowing through flushed Castiel's skin in places, patches scattered over his chest and belly, revealing the occasional pale scar left by the attentions of past doms. Dean frowned. "Someone sure marked you up good, didn't they," he observed. There was something to Dean's tone that Castiel couldn't name but that _hurt_.

"I'm sorry, sir," Castiel said unhappily, frantically considering the ways he could fix whatever was wrong.

 _I have to fix it, I have to figure it out and rectify my errors, I have to guess and if I guess wrong he'll punish me. I should know what the problem is, I should be able to understand my dom, anticipate my dom's needs._

"Don't be," grunted Dean. Relief nearly blinded Castiel. "I'll just have to add my own. I'm not usually territorial but I don't like that someone's left their signature on my property."

 _Dean is not Naomi, Dean is not Naomi, Dean is not Naomi…_

"Again, that's not for today, though. Put the ring on."

Hands trembling minutely, Castiel retrieved the ring. He'd not used it yet, so it took him a moment to figure out how to open it, but once he did he placed it around his cock, settled it against his balls, and closed it once more. Though it wasn't too tight, his cock seemed to strain against it and ache for freedom. As Castiel looked up towards Dean for his next command, a faint buzz and a thrum of vibration emanated from the ring and Castiel gasped as his cock throbbed, bucked, thickened painfully against the restraint.

"Good," said Dean throatily. The vibration amped up, shuddering pleasure that billowed out from Castiel's cock to suffuse his entire body, and Castiel's Adam's apple bobbed and stuttered against whimpers that he barely kept silent. "Excellent, Thursday. You're beautiful to watch, you know. Pretty as a picture. Some subs, I turn something like this on…" The vibration shifted to an intermittent pulse; Castiel's heartbeat instantly matched it, his entire body syncing to the rhythm. "…and they squirm like crazy. Makes for shit photography, pisses me the fuck off. It ends up coming down to luck if I get a good shot. With you, though? Man, I could take a whole mess of pictures, the beautiful strained look on your face, the leaking tip of your cock, people'd pay a fortune for photos of that shit, you could be spank bank material for people all over the world. But that'd mean I'd have to share you and, like I said, I'm not usually the jealous sort but there's just something about you, Cas…the shit you do to me? I don't want anyone else to have that. You're mine, right?"

"Yes," Castiel croaked. It was all he could do to speak, he had to time the words into the void between the bursts of pleasure brought by the ring. Light flared in his eyes at every surge, his thoughts washed momentarily blank. He was barely aware that he was panting in time with the vibration; he wanted to stop, to control his breathing, to control himself, but he couldn't. Dean tsked. "I'm yours, sir. Please!"

"What do you want, Cas?" asked Dean approvingly.

"Use me, sir, please, I want you to use me," Castiel gasped.

"Even though you know I won't let you come today?" Through tear-blurred vision, Castiel could barely make out Dean's mischievous smirk.

"Yes!"

"Perfect, Cas," Dean said. "So fucking perfect for me." The ring switched modes again, back to what Castiel thought was the first setting Dean had used. In comparison to the intense pulses, the vibration felt mildly and manageable. As long as that didn't change, Castiel wouldn't have difficulty forestalling his climax. "Take the rope, Cas. I'm going to teach you a basic tie, called the tortoise shell." With fingers that felt awkward and unresponsive, Castiel took up the bundle of rope. "Start by finding the middle point." Undoing the tie that held it closed, Castiel let the long ends stream free; he thought it maybe 15 feet long. As he adjusted it to find the mid-way point, Dean did the same with the rope he'd fetched. "Loop it around your neck."

Calmly, step by step, Dean explained to Castiel how he should tie the rope, demonstrating on his own body. Under Dean's gentle direction, such a strange and wonderful contrast to his earlier aggressive assertiveness, Castiel's tension drained away as it had when Dean was examining him. The ends encircled his neck and hung together down his chest, secured by a series of three knots that rested over Castiel's heart, sternum, and below his belly button. Step by step they wove the shell of the tortoise, ropes a protective layer over Castiel's chest, threaded between his legs, running along his ass crack and up his spine, clasping his sides. As he threaded the ends through the spaces between the knots, his breathing stuttered at the rough feel of the rope against his sensitized skin. Every movement he made rubbed the length over his cock, shifted his balls, nestled within his crack to abrade gently against his hole. He wasn't sure if the cock ring was even still vibrating; it didn't matter. Arousal hummed through his veins but he was in no danger of it overcoming him. Instead, the cock ring and the warm buzz that suffused him were enough in and of themselves. He didn't need more.

The ropes hung about him like the comfortable embrace of a lover and as they entwined him, he allowed his taut muscles to relax against them. The interlinked lengths broke his torso up into a series of diamonds, another allusion to the pattern of a tortoise shell. Castiel had been tied up before, handcuffed, bound by spreader bars, chained to the wall and ceiling, but none of those experiences were like this. Those times, he had been bound to keep him from moving, to restrain him and trap him, ensure that he was unable to escape. The restraints forced to subject to whatever plan his dom had. Unlike those times, this binding felt like it was for _him_ , for his pleasure and comfort. He was bound, true, but he was also protected. He thought even if he was tied in a way that constrained him, such as some of the ties he'd seen in the photographs of Gilda, it still wouldn't feel imprisoning in the same way.

"How's that feel, Cas?" asked Dean when the final tie had been made over his belly.

"I love it," Castiel whispered, moved more than he could credit or explain. Tears prickled in his eyes, matched the prickling of pins and needles in his legs, matched the prickling of pleasure vibrating at the base of his cock and balls. "Thank you, sir."

"You look fuckin' stunning like that," Dean breathed, shucking off the demonstration he'd tied about himself. "Don't close your eyes, I wanna see 'um – love the way the blue rope brings them out." With effort, Castiel forced his eyes open. The temptation to let them slip shut, to fall away into comfort and ease and sleep, was immense.

 _Can a scene really be like this, so comforting, so heartening? It's never been like this before. I thought he was supposed to be punishing me for being recalcitrant earlier. This isn't punishment. This is glorious._

 _Dean isn't Naomi. Even if he's bound me, even he's claimed me, he's not her. She'd never do something like this for me. She'd never have done._

"Just let everything go," murmured Dean. "The ropes have got you. I've got you. All mine, so beautiful all trussed up." As Dean spoke, he lowered the zipper on his jeans, deftly worked his fingers into his boxers and pulled out his hard cock. A flare of heat burned through Castiel at the sight and then faded back into the background warmth of arousal. He didn't need more. He didn't _want_ more. How he felt just then was already perfect. "Talk to me, Cas."

"What should I talk about, sir?" Each breath Castiel took inflated his chest, pressed his flesh against the ropes; each exhalation removed the pressure and left him feeling momentarily bereft until the next inhale. Each subtle movement he couldn't restrain shifted the hemp against his skin, scratched him subtly. He was hyper-aware of every touch, in love with the slight roughness caressing him. He wanted to feel it everywhere, want it to cradle him and secure his arms and bind his legs. There was no way he could do that for himself.

 _Dean could do it for me. But for that I'd have to meet him. I can't do that. Maybe I could ask Charlie next time in Dallas._

 _No. It's simply something I can't have. This is enough. This has to be enough._

 _Doesn't it?_

A chuckle interrupted Castiel's thoughts. "You still with me, Thursday?"

"Sorry, sir," he whispered.

"Whatever it is, let it go," Dean encouraged. For a wonder, Castiel did. He slumped against the ropes, not sure how he was still upright, and all his tension and worry disappeared. There was only Dean's voice, Dean's pleasure, Dean's control, Dean's surrogate touch in the form of the ropes that Dean had lovingly instructed Castiel how to bind about his body. _Lovingly?_ "You're safe. You're held." Dean's palm rubbed slowly over his cock. "I'm glad you like it. Tell me how it feels."

"So good, sir," Castiel tried to hold on to _any_ thoughts, to formulate the scattered sensations he surrendered to into a coherent response. The vibration in the cock ring amplified slightly, enough to intrude on Castiel's awareness again, little enough not to push him out of contentment. "Like I'm…like I'm floating, like I'm held, like I've got nothing to worry about…it's…I don't…" Dean wrapped fingers around his cock and stroked, making approving sounds that helped Castiel feel that he wasn't being disobedient despite his struggles to put his feelings in to words. "It's like…like I've surrendered to it – to you, sir – but I'm still in control. I don't understand – why does it feel like this?"

 _It's not supposed to feel like this._

"Say my name, Cas," Dean ordered, tone firm yet gentle, the vocal equivalent of the ropes that encompassed Castiel, trapped him, freed him.

 _I'm supposed to hurt._

"Dean," he breathed. He gasped as saying the name aloud flared hot through his groin, through his belly, momentarily painted his vision in bright shades of colors he couldn't find the names for.

 _I'm supposed to give, not receive._

"Yeah, Cas – that's good," Dean said, stroking himself harder, faster. "You're so good."

 _No, I'm not, I'm not allowed to have this._

"Fuck, you're perfect," Dean continued, voice growing breathier. "Giving yourself over to me like this, trusting me like this, a perfect little present just for me to tie up, to wrap, to use and enjoy."

 _That's right._

"Talk to me, Cas."

 _Just because I like this too doesn't mean it's for me._

"What should I say?"

 _I'm not even allowed to come._

"Anything you want," Dean panted. "Love the sound of your voice, Cas, love how wrecked you are right now."

 _This is entirely for him._

The vibration of the cock ring intensified again and Castiel groaned.

 _I'm entirely for him._

"Dean I…I'm _yours_ ," he gasped. Ropes pressed hard against his skin as he strained for air, his cock dripped wet on his thigh, and unexpected pleasure spread intense bliss through him.

 _And I love the things he does to me, I love the way this feels._

"Yeah, ya are," Dean huffed. Castiel wasn't sure if his eyes were still open; he couldn't see Dean, couldn't see the room, all he could see was the disembodied reflection of all that he imagined, all that he felt: Dean circling him and tying him, Dean holding him as the ropes held him, Dean wrapping a hand around Castiel's cock and stroking and teasing as the cock ring teased.

 _I want this._

"Please, sir… _please_ , Dean…"

 _I want this so badly._

"Tell me what you need, Cas."

 _I need…_

"I need—" The answer caught in this throat, a burst of contradictory desires filling his thoughts as heat filled his body. _No, those aren't needs, those are wants._ "I want…"

 _I'm not supposed to…I can't…_

" _Tell me what you need_ ," insisted Dean, tone harsh, undeniable.

 _They're all…everyone is…_

"You!" Castiel gasped. Dean groaned, deep and guttural, and Castiel couldn't help but echo the sound. Dean's desire, Dean's pleasure, was tantamount to Castiel's pleasure, overwhelming in its immediacy. Hemp brushed against him intimately and stole the last threads of his reason. "I need you, sir, I need this, God, is that okay? Please, tell me… _tell me_ …I don't know, I don't know anymore, I'm supposed to know, I'm supposed to…"

 _I'm not supposed to want this, I'm not supposed to enjoy this, I'm not supposed to have this. I'm supposed to hurt, I'm supposed to suffer for my desires, I'm supposed to serve with no hope of anything in return, I'm supposed to obey no matter the order, I'm supposed to submit, I'm supposed to be hers, only hers, to accept whatever pittance she gives and want nothing more._

 _No!_

 _Dean IS NOT Naomi_.

"You're allowed to have this, Cas," snapped Dean with authority.

 _I am?_

"Because you're letting me?"

 _Please!_

"Because you want it."

 _I do!_

"Dean!"

 _I want this, I want you, want this, want you,_ want, _want-want-want-want-need-want-want-want…_

"Fuck, Cas – fuck, I want you so bad, so perfect, absolutely fucking perfect for me." Even with his vision seared blank Castiel knew that Dean had come. Desperately trying to get enough air, Castiel drew in frantic breaths, every one causing the ropes wrapped around his torso to strain and dig gloriously into his flesh. He loved the feeling, wanted more of it, arched his back to chase the abrasion of hemp on skin, to force the rope deeper in to the crease of his ass, force it to at his balls. The vibration of the cock ring blurred his vision to oblivion, and for long moments he could see nothing, hear nothing, taste nothing, smell nothing, but _fuck_ he could feel _everything_.

"Cas?"

Dean's beautiful voice pierced through Castiel's euphoria and Castiel came back to himself. Rope dug into his crack and his side, his cheek was pressed against the bedding, and one arm was pinned beneath him. The quiet buzz of the cock ring was notable by its absence, the stimulation gone. His legs tingled painfully, but it was perfect, just what he needed, a mild counterpoint to the bliss that might otherwise have obliterated him. He hadn't come. A smile graced his face.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel's eyes flicked to the computer monitor. Dean was watching him with an open, friendly expression. His green eyes had never looked brighter, gathering the light and shimmering like sunlight through the tree canopy. Castiel's smile widened.

 _He wants me. I'm good enough for him._

"You good?"

 _I wasn't good enough for Naomi, but I'm good enough for Dean._

"That was fantastic," Castiel said.

 _Thank God_.

"Comfortable, are ya?" There was a laugh in Dean's voice that Castiel couldn't understand until he finally registered what a ridiculous position he was in.

"Don't wanna move," he mumbled.

"Well, you gotta," Dean still sounded happy but there was a hint of authority in his voice that was enough, barely, to pull Castiel from his daze. "Not gonna let you hurt yourself, so straighten out your legs and get your arm out from under you. The ropes feelin' okay?"

"Yes," said Castiel. Forcing his limbs to obey him despite the hot haze suffusing his limbs, he stretched, tugging the ropes around him as he did, and lay flat against the bed, one eye gazing unfocusedly at the computer screen. "They feel wonderful. May I…" He hesitated until Dean made an encouraging noise. "May I leave them on?"

"Gonna wear it to your massage?"

"That'd be weird, wouldn't it," said Castiel with a disappointed sigh.

"Ya think? But sure, you could leave 'um on 'til then," Dean was smiling at him even more broadly, showing perfect white teeth that Castiel could imagine nipping at his lips, his nipples, his balls. A tingling shudder sparked fresh arousal through him. "Like that idea, huh? That's one of the awesome things about the tortoise shell – feels good but is totally safe. Lotsa folks wear it under their clothing, even."

"Would that be alright?" asked Castiel, strangely breathless at the prospect.

 _It'd be like he was with me, even when he wasn't. I'd like that – I'd love that – no, wait, do I need his permission for that? I don't even know any more, I don't know how much I can allow, how much I can have._

 _But this feels alright. This feels good._

"How 'bout this – if you want that, you text me in the morning, and I'll walk you through doing the tie, and you can wear it as long as you want. Sound good?"

"Yes," Castiel managed around a yawn so wide it cracked his jaw.

"Get some sleep now; I'll wake you at 5 so you can get ready for your evening."

"Thank you, Dean," he murmured. "That was…you are…this feels…" He shook his head. _Indescribable._

Despite his fatigue, sleep didn't come immediately. The room was bright with light that filled his mind with pink and peach as the sun struck his eyelids. With the computer screen still up and Skype yet active, Castiel could hear the faint sounds of Dean doing something – a rustle of fabric, the metallic ting of a zipper being pulled, the creak of a mattress spring, a click of a keyboard, the deep, lilting hum of a song he didn't recognize, singing him to rest. A pleased sigh eased Castiel against the bed, trapped the rope between the bedding and his body, the warm air ensuring he was comfortable even without a blanket – _Dean takes care of me, he cares that I'm comfortable, did he make me change it with this moment in mind?_ His arousal slowly ebbed, his cock softening despite the ring still nestled around the base.

"Hey, Cas, you awake?" Dean spoke softly enough that had Castiel been asleep, the question would not have woken him.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Who is Naomi?"

An image of her sprang to Castiel's mind for one crystal-clear moment, her blue eyes cold and unsympathetic, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, her beautiful body hidden by a suit that she wore like armor. For once, the memory brought no terror. She had no power over him, not any more.

"She's no one," Castiel said, and for the first time since he met her when he was 19, he meant it. "She's nothing. Just someone I used to see."

"A dom?" Dean pushed.

"She's no one."

 _Dean is not Naomi._

Castiel slept peacefully, a smile yet quirking the corners of his mouth.

* * *

I'm so sorry about the lack of a picture of a man tied in the tortoise shell, but I wasn't able to find one - only women. However, there's a youtube video at youtubedotcom watch?v=OLRLG7aE4OE I found demonstrating how to do it, and there's a cute graphic I found that explains it step-by-step that I posted on my Tumblr.

Hope you've enjoyed this story! I'm starting the next story in the series as soon as I finish posting this one, and will post the chapters as I finish them - first one will probably be up Wednesday or Thursday of next week, if I had to guess. :)

For updates, rambling, fun chatting, loads of pretty fanart reblogging, and more, follow me on Tumblr at unforth-ninawaters!


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